


It Never Goes Out

by everythingintransit



Series: No Closer To Heaven [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sirius Black, Gore, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, dorlene, honestly these characters have sad lives so this is a somewhat sad fic don't come at me, jily, later chapters also focus on regulus's life, so its gonna be long, super slow burn it takes years, very long :), wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 117
Words: 473,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingintransit/pseuds/everythingintransit
Summary: The universe times it just right.They meet at a certain stage in life where everything is all impulse and curiosity, where you can get away with anything and maybe a scraped knee or detention to show for it, but it never lasts, it never hurts for longer than a week, at least, depending on what you’ve done.Maybe it’s because James Potter is too friendly for his own good, always running his mouth. He sets everything in motion, at least.But Sirius Black has never had real friends before, not like this, and a little brother plus a deranged old house elf don’t count. Even if they both let you win at chess every time you play.And Peter Pettigrew is used to playing along, and Remus Lupin just wants to share his passion for Muggle rock n' roll with someone who understands, you know?So they’re young and so it means everything to share a compartment on a train on a warm day in September, in 1971, and the universe got something right because that one day stretches an entire lifetime. And maybe beyond that, too. Maybe all the way to the other side.-The story of the Marauders and their time at Hogwarts. [1971-1978]
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: No Closer To Heaven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129391
Comments: 890
Kudos: 616





	1. [YR 1] Growing Nerves/Pains

**Author's Note:**

> hi all welcome! first things first, fuck jk rowling. i in no way support her offensive & demeaning views. all my homies hate jk. 
> 
> quick things:  
> \- bellatrix & narcissa's ages are swapped and i'm stupid but no i don't care  
> \- i'm an american but i went to a british school overseas & have... experience with a british voice ig. hopefully it doesn't sound dumb  
> \- please comment. i love comments. they make me cry (in the best way). if you're not caught up or want to wait til the end to comment, don't do that. leave feedback! it makes everything so much better  
> \- shit gets pretty heavy as this fic goes on, but i have individual content warnings for each chapter if there's any triggering material
> 
> i'm a huge music nerd so every chapter is named after a song, and you can check that playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zYrgwKxOeRdfe3U78PXm1?si=aVVqNk0nSn6d2TNobK0rDg)  
> and for 70s music/music the characters in here listen to, i also made a playlist that you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/42uI5hWyQbVq31xRQ9JGCR?si=U-MfKNt5RjK3k3G2qXK1dA)
> 
> enjoy!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things:  
> \- bella & narcissa's ages are switched :/ just roll with it  
> \- i know that first years aren't allowed brooms. we're going to ignore that rule  
> \- 1st line is a lyric from the song "like o, like h" by tegan & sara. give it a listen

**_1971_ **

_s.o.s to my mother, take the hinges off the door_

**r**

Remus Lupin turns eleven and receives his letter from Hogwarts.

He's thrilled for a brief moment, reading the letter over and over as his heart beats a quick tempo inside his chest. He had been waiting, not really for his birthday, but more for the present that wouldn't come from either of his parents or relatives. He had been waiting for the screech of an owl outside the window, the shakiness of his hands as he would untie the letter, the excitement released as he would read the letter to himself: first in his head, then out loud, and then to himself again- silently, radically and unabashedly filled with an elation that only seems to affect lighthearted children.

Things don't go necessarily as planned, really, because Remus lounges outside their house in the grass for most of the day, trying to read his book but ending up reading the same sentence over and over due to his excitement. The early March weather isn't forgiving and it starts to rain so he runs back inside for an umbrella and continues his vigil outside. Remus doesn't enjoy the outdoors, he'd much rather be sat up in his room, but he feels as though it would be unfair to himself if he read the letter any later than it was delivered. The owl appears at half past four and Remus leaps to his feet, eyes bright, and runs over to the bird perched on the windowsill of their house, looking confused.

Remus's hands do shake as he unties the letter from the tawny owl's leg, and as soon as the string is undone, the owl flies away into the rainy afternoon. And Remus does read the letter over and over again, holding it under his umbrella so the ink doesn't run.

" _Dear Mr. Lupin, we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_ The sentence brings a bright grin to his small face, and he runs inside almost bouncing with delight.

"Mum! Dad! Look! Look, look what came!" He tracks dirty footprints around the floor, waving the envelope wildly. "Hogwarts! They want me, and term starts in September, and they do want me, after all!" Truthfully, Remus had had his excitements dashed about the Hogwarts letter all year long, with his parents telling him kindly but firmly that they didn't know how he would be able to attend the school. As a werewolf.

Only eleven, and Remus's life had already been ruined, in his parents' eyes. They love their son, love him more than anything, but being a werewolf in the wizarding world isn't something that can easily be hidden. Not in the muggle world, either. Hope and Lyall Lupin had been moving around the UK ever since Remus had been bitten, staying in a place only long enough to get situated before neighbors would become suspicious of the events that took place in their house every month, and they would move again. Still, they believed that sending their son to muggle primary schools would help him make friends and feel more normal, if only a little bit. 

Remus had made a few muggle friends, none of them very close except for a choice few. Still, Remus couldn't tell his friends about his excitement regarding Hogwarts, or why he missed a few days of school once a month, or why he had rather gruesome scars all over his body. Once, in their P.E. class, when Remus was dressed in his kit, one of his teachers had gotten worried about his scars, and called home about it. His parents hadn't known what to say, and had considered simply homeschooling Remus to also teach him some magic, but Remus had cried and begged to stay in school and they had let him, although reluctantly.

His parents are sat in the kitchen where Hope, his mother, is icing his birthday cake. Remus bears a resemblance to his father, Lyall, who leans forward in his chair with a curious expression on his face, taking the letter from his son's hands.

"What do we have here?" Lyall asks as he unfolds the envelope, biting his lip nervously as he reads over the message with furrowed eyebrows. He had received the same letter on his own eleventh birthday and had felt a similar excitement to his son, except there hadn't been anything holding him back from going. There's a sinking feeling in his chest as he looks at his son, who wears an infallible, innocent smile on his scarred face. "Remus..." Lyall starts, and Remus's face hardens as his father lets out a heavy sigh. His wife pretends not to listen to the conversation, but he can tell that she's upset too.

Lyall and Hope had fallen in love easily, simply, the best way possible. There had been little drama, little to worry about, and they had married after a year of dating- so hopelessly in love that they couldn't bear to think about living life without each other there. Hope had known about Lyall's magic and had accepted it, considering it something that didn't have a negative effect on her life, and therefore wasn't worth fretting about. With a beautiful young son and a happy marriage, nothing had been wrong until February of 1966, when a five year old Remus had been attacked.

Hope doesn't like thinking about that night, but remembers the overwhelming fear and the _anger,_ how the mothering desire to protect her only child had been overcome by wanting to lash out against her husband, who was, essentially, (other than the werewolf itself) the only reason that Remus had been bitten. And then things just hadn't been the same.

"I'm not sure why... Remus, this is boarding school, I don't know what you're supposed to do on the full moons." Lyall is saying, and Hope doesn't want to see or hear her son heartbroken, especially on his birthday, but she knows not to get his hopes up.

"But this can't be a mistake, right?" Remus pleads. "They wouldn't've sent it if they were worried about me, they sent it for a reason." He crosses his arms and pouts his lip and Hope wants to give in, to tell him that of course he can go and there was no mistake, but she doesn't know how this works. She keeps quiet.

"Remus, no one can know that you're a werewolf." Lyall says in a somber tone. "This is very serious, and sending you to a school where there are hundreds of kids who could find out, and know the consequences, well..." He trails, not wanting to discuss the things that could happen if Remus were found out about.

Remus and his father argue a little more before Hope stops them, suggesting that Lyall write to the headmaster. This seems to quell the brunt of the tension, but dinner is a quiet and relatively joyless affair. They're about to light eleven candles on his birthday cake when there's a loud knock at the door. The three of them fall into a tense silence and Remus gazes up at his parents, only momentarily, before sprinting to the door and throwing it open- not knowing what he had been expecting, but being shocked by the sight of the man on the doorstep nonetheless.

He's a tall, old man. He wears a funny sort of silvery hat on his head, a silver that matches his great long beard that stretches all the way down his chest. The man wears a set of wizard's robes, the kind Lyall wears to work, in a rich deep purpley color. There are half moon glasses in front of his glittering blue eyes, and a wide smile breaks on his face when he sees a wide eyed Remus standing in the doorway.

"Happy birthday, Remus!" He greets, and Remus whispers an unheard and surprised 'thank you' as his father appears behind him, wearing an expression almost identical to his son. 

"Prof- Albus." Lyall corrects himself, shocked at this unexpected visitor. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" ****

**s**

"Just look at it, Reg! Look how _cool,_ it looks so posh, all black! Don't you think?" Sirius Black has just come back from a trip to Diagon Alley with his parents, where they had bought him his first wand. Admittedly, the Blacks had waited until almost the latest possible date to buy their oldest son his wand. Sirius is a mischievous boy, and they hadn't been confident that he would keep his magic under control at home and not try to perform all sorts of spells that he had already been studying.

Sirius has been showing off his wand to his younger brother Regulus, who looks at it with an awed expression.

"What's it made of?" Regulus asks curiously, watching as his older brother swishes the wand back and forth with great gusto.

"It's thirteen inches long, and it's made of ebony, and it's got a dragon heartstring core, which is the _strongest_ kind of core." Sirius brags, waving the wand and making his brother's hair blow back.

"Wow, Sirius, can I hold it?" Regulus wonders, and Sirius immediately brings the wand to his side, looking defensive.

"No, you can't. You get your own next year." Sirius says coldly, in the way that older brothers do, and Regulus looks disappointed.

"Please, just to hold, I won't mess with it-"

"Don't _whinge,_ Regulus, it's mine and I don't want your grubby little hands all over it-"

"I can wash them! They're not so dirty-" The brothers' squabbling is interrupted by their older cousin Bellatrix, who pokes her head out from the room down the hall, with an awful expression on her pale face.

"Shut up, both of you!" She snaps, slamming the door shut, leaving the brothers staring after her- wondering about her. Girls are somewhat of a mystery to the pair of them. Bellatrix is going into her seventh and final year at Hogwarts while Sirius is eager to be starting his first one. They're both leaving the very next day, and Sirius can hardly contain himself with excitement.

"What's got her so worked up?" Regulus asks, quickly forgetting their fight.

"Probably finishing up her holiday work, she always leaves it to the end of the summer." Sirius responds. "Bitch." He adds, a little quieter, and Regulus looks up at him with the awe of a younger sibling. Although the brothers have their fair share of arguments, they do get along at the end of the day, and it's better to have each other than to have no one.

At only eleven years old, Sirius has already become bitter with the burden of being the lesser favored child. He's rebellious and has a wicked, sharp sense of humor that tends to upset the rest of his family. They're a well regarded wizarding family, the 'Noble and Ancient Wizarding House of Black', a title which Sirius has grown used to making fun of. Regulus tries to please their parents but laughs at Sirius's jokes in private, and they sometimes spend nights discussing their family, and how terrifying some of the members are.

And how terrifying some of their magic is.

They're too young to know about how the Blacks are famous for their dark magic and obsession with blood purity, but Sirius can tell for himself that he won't grow up to be who his parents want him to be. Dinner takes place later in the evening, and both Sirius and Regulus put on uncomfortable shirts and ties to look presentable in front of the extended family.

Their aunt and uncle are there, along with their cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa, the latter of whom has brought a date with her, a pale faced man named Lucius. Sirius has another cousin named Andromeda, but she had been shunned from the family after she married a muggle born called Ted. Sirius thinks that she's rather cool, though, and misses seeing her quite badly. She was never as serious as the rest of them.

They sit down to a dinner prepared by their house elf, Kreacher. Sirius and his brother are younger than everyone at the table and sit at the end, talking to each other for most of the night. At some point, the event of Sirius starting Hogwarts the next day is brought up.

"First day, eh?" His uncle Cygnus asks with an attempt at a friendly smile. "The sorting ought to be exciting, you'll make us proud in Slytherin!" He beams proudly at his daughters, both of whom had been sorted into Slytherin. The whole family had been.

"Of course," Sirius replies, trying to hide his hesitation. "I'm quite excited. Can't wait to start flying." He adds, changing the subject from houses.

"Are you going out for Quidditch?" Narcissa asks politely. She has a soft face but still bears a resemblance to her younger sister Bellatrix, who is as dark as her sister is light, and has smeared eyeshadow and dark lipstick onto her face.

"Yeah, though I can't try out until second year. It would be great, though, to get on the team."

"Would make a rather good beater, with the way you and your brother fight." Sirius's father, Orion, says, and the rest of the table laugh, including Regulus. The rest of dinner passes without any blow ups or fights, and Sirius heads back to his room afterwards to pack. He tends to leave things until last minute, similar to his parents in regards to buying him a wand, which is tucked safely into his pocket. Regulus follows behind and watches as his brother tosses things haphazardly into his trunk. The night gets late as the brothers chat with each other in their shared bedroom and Sirius checks and rechecks the packing list out of general anxiety.

Finally, he assumes that he has whatever he'll need, puts on his pajamas, and gets into bed. Him and Regulus lie on opposite sides of the room, awake, thinking their own private thoughts that Regulus decides to share first.

"Aren't you nervous?" Regulus asks. He's a worrier, always has been, and Sirius tries to convince himself that he's not nervous, not at all.

"Nah." He replies bravely. "Maybe about the sorting, though. Haven't you wondered what would happen if we were sorted somewhere else?" Regulus snorts as though this is a completely foreign concept to him.

"Where else? Hufflepuff? _You_ , in Ravenclaw?" Regulus giggles a bit and Sirius frowns, thinking about the unspoken house.

"I mean, Gryffindor might not be awful..."

"Just stick with Slytherin, Sirius. It's what everyone wants." Regulus doesn't say anything after that and while his younger brother sleeps, Sirius lies wide awake, doing his share of worrying.

**j**

"Goodbye, darling, I'll write you every day, okay? And write to us, too, of course, let us know how it all goes! I'm so proud of you!" Euphemia Potter kisses her son and he fights to step away from her, face red.

"Okay, mum, I've got to get on the train." James Potter steps back from his parents, trying his best to board the Hogwarts Express, but his mother feels incapable of letting her only son leave, (if it is only for a school year) and she pulls him back for another hug.

"Last one, I promise." She sighs as she hugs him tightly. "I love you so much, James, okay? Have a good year! Write to us tonight, I want to know-"

"Everything, mum, I _know._ The train is going to leave without me!" James exclaims, and Euphemia wipes tears from her eyes as her husband claps James on the shoulder, having less trouble with seeing his son off.

"Good luck, James, you're going to have a great year. Go make some new friends, okay?" Fleamont Potter instructs, and James nods brightly before dragging his trunk onto the train. Inside, there are students everywhere and James navigates him down the halls, searching for a carriage. Most of them are full of older students greeting each other after the summer, laughing and joking as they catch up. James can't help but feel a bit nervous, but straightens his shoulders and marches further down the hall, carrying his trunk under one arm and holding his brand new broomstick in the other.

He enters a new car and finally finds a carriage with two boys who look around his age in it. James takes a closer look through the glass to see that one of them is his neighbor, Peter Pettigrew, and he feels a sense of relief as he opens the door to the carriage.

"Alright, Peter?" He asks the blonde haired boy who smiles when he sees him.

"Hi, James! How was your summer?"

"Great, and yours?" James asks, not bothering to wait for an answer as he introduces himself to the boy sitting next to Peter. He has light brown hair and a rather large nose, but James is more fascinated by the scars across his face. "I'm James, nice to meet you."

"You too." The boy says, eyeing James' broom. Then, as though he had forgotten, he starts and says- "Sorry, I'm Remus. Remus Lupin."

"Cool name." James says, heaving his trunk onto the shelf overhead.

"Cool _broom_." Pete says, shifting forward in his seat. "What make is it?"

"A Silver Arrow." James says proudly as Pete oohs and aahs over it. "It's quite fast, but I'll have to learn how to put a cushioning charm on it, because falling off hurts rather badly." He says with a laugh.

"I bet you never fall off." Peter says and James smiles at him.

"Cheers, Pete. So, Remus, do you come from a wizarding family?" James asks. Before Remus can reply, the door of the carriage opens again and James looks up to see two more people standing there. He first lays eyes on the girl, who has long ginger hair and beautiful green eyes. Standing next to her is a greasy haired boy, with a miserable expression on his face.

"Mind if we join you?" The girl asks politely, and James invites them in, though he'd rather just talk to her than the boy behind her. "I'm Lily, and this is Severus." She says, gesturing at her dark haired companion. "What are you lot up to?"

"Just getting to know Remus." James says, which makes Remus blush. Lily and Severus look at the brown haired boy with interest, and he clears his throat before speaking.

"My dad's a wizard, mum's a... a muggle, I guess you call them." Remus says as though unfamiliar with wizarding terminology.

"You haven't been around many wizards, hm?" James replies. Remus shakes his head.

"Did you go to school with muggles?" Peter inquires. Severus leans in with a smug sort of look on his face that James doesn't take to.

"Yeah, primary school. I've only met some of my dad's coworkers, from the Ministry, you know. But no other kids, not really."

"Wow, I couldn't imagine going to muggle school." Peter breathes.

"Me neither." Severus says in a cold, drawling voice.

"I did." Lily pipes up. "Me and my sister." She hesitates, and then adds- "I'm muggleborn." James looks at her with interest. The conversation stops, again, when there's a disturbance outside the carriage. A loud argument carries down the hallway and James gets up, always interested in any developing dramas. He cracks their door and looks down the hall, hearing a girl's angry voice shout. There's the slam of a door and a dark haired boy tumbles into the hall, his trunk making a loud bang against the floor. Before anyone can act, the door to the next car opens, and a broom gets thrown on top of the boy, who shouts

"Good riddance!" At the top of his lungs, before the door gets slammed again. James can hear loud footsteps on the other side and looks with pity at the boy, who gathers his things with some effort.

"You alright, then?" James asks, stepping out into the otherwise empty hallway. The boy looks up. He has black hair that reaches his shoulders, and high cheekbones. Despite his proud face, James sees a wicked sparkle in his eyes.

"Fine." The boy replies, his broom slipping from his full arms.

"Here," James offers, "Let me help." The boy hesitates for a moment, but eventually hands his broom to James, who leads the way back to his carriage. Everyone inside is wide eyed as James leads the boy back inside. There's not much storage space left, so they pile his things near the door.

"Thanks." The boy says in a rather posh accent, looking firmly at James. "I'm Sirius." He says after, addressing the entire carriage, at this point. "Sirius Black." 


	2. [YR 1] Where We Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm adding a line of lyrics at the beginning of every chapter just for some thematic & musical fun. these ones are from where we belong by passion pit (a very good tune!)

_ all the things you can’t control should never destroy the love one holds _

**r**

Sirius Black is a captivating figure, with a loud mouth that he seems to run even more than James. Although he settles closest to the door of the carriage, there’s not much space left anyways, all attention is drawn to him the instant he arrives. 

He’s like no one Remus has ever seen before. It’s not just his physical appearance, which is still startling and then welcoming in its own right. Sirius has long black hair, longer than Remus has seen muggles wear, electric blue eyes, and a thin, proud face. He  _ looks  _ royal and seems to be buzzing with magical energy that is attractive to Remus. Remus wants to be his friend, be on his good side, be _by_ his side. He’s the kind of person that people love to receive attention from and don’t know why. Remus listens intently when he speaks.

“Well, I was with my cousin, you see. She’s a seventh year, Bellatrix, and I got on the train with her because we’re family, of course, and I followed her to her carriage but she really didn’t take kindly to that at all, and threw a bit of a fit-”

“Because you wouldn’t go find your own friends?” Severus says in that cold, slow voice of his. Sirius opens and then closes his mouth, looking angry at being cut off, but not knowing how to reply.

“Well  _ obviously  _ I was going to find my own friends, I just wasn’t sure where to go at first, and I wasn’t behaving badly or anything of the sort.” Sirius defends himself bravely, and Remus smiles to himself, imagining the arrogant boy annoying his older cousin to the point of being almost literally thrown from her train car. James changes the focus of their discussion, thankfully, which Remus doesn’t engage in. He feels shy around the large crowd of strangers, and lets Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter dominate the majority of their discussions. 

“Isn’t this so strange?” Peter asks. “We have no house affiliations yet, no sorting, nothing holding us into place.” 

“Getting rather existential, are we, Pete?” James says with a laugh, but neither Severus nor Sirius look too amused.

“If I’m not sorted into Slytherin, I’m not sure what the point will be.” Severus says severely, and James looks at him with a worried expression. 

“Same.” Sirius says in a low voice, and Remus looks over at him. The two boys make eye contact and instead of looking away quickly, which would be Remus’s first initiative, Sirius gives him a shy smile. “What about you, Remus?” He asks in a louder voice, and Remus blushes when everyone turns to look at him again.

“Well, my dad was in Gryffindor, so I wouldn’t mind being sorted there. Seems alright.” 

“Right’o, mate!” James says proudly. “I’m hoping for Gryffindor too.” He smiles brightly at Remus who returns it, although a little reluctantly. Neither Peter nor Lily mind too much where they’ll end up, but Remus can work out that Peter would rather be with his friends, wherever they go.

Remus had met Peter first. Remus had been wandering nervously down the hall of the train, not knowing where to sit, and only judging who were first years by their clothes- the lack of house colors that seemed to perpetrate the rest of the students. Remus had come upon Peter sitting by himself in a carriage, staring longingly out the window as though he’d rather not leave King’s Cross. Remus had asked if he could join, and Peter had been more than happy to invite him into the carriage. Peter was blonde, chubby, had large buck teeth, and was eager to please. Remus was glad for his company but quickly found that after too long, Peter became a little annoying, and the rapid arrival of the confident, chatty James Potter had been a welcome distraction for Remus. 

The Honeydukes trolley has come down the hallway and James, Sirius, Lily, and Peter crowd the door of the carriage to buy themselves sweets and food, while Severus and Remus are left sitting with a wide space in between them, not speaking. Severus glances at Remus, who looks back at him with a half smile.

Neither of them bring up what is obviously clear: the lack of money between them. Both of them are wearing nice enough clothes, but it’s clear that they aren’t newly bought, and their trunks are both weathered and beaten. Remus’s family isn’t exactly well off, and he would identify more with being poor than rich, although his family is neither. His mum teaches at a secondary school, which doesn’t pay very well, and his dad makes a decent salary at the Ministry. Still, there’s not always much money to spare. Remus assumes that Severus is in a similar situation, and once again clears his throat before speaking.

“Did your parents go to Hogwarts?” Severus looks a bit panicked at being addressed by Remus, but responds politely enough.

“Er, my mum did. She was in Slytherin.”

“Your dad’s a muggle?” Remus asks, still a bit uncomfortable with that word, not knowing why non magical humans should be referred to with a silly, disdainful word.

“Yeah.” Severus mumbles, obviously not wanting to continue the conversation. Thankfully, Lily returns from the hallway with some mysterious looking food in her hands. 

“Got you a pumpkin pasty, Sev, if you’d like it.” She offers, holding out a pastry to him. Severus accepts it with thanks, and Lily offers a chocolate frog to Remus, who hesitantly accepts it. The rest of the boys come back with all sorts of wizarding sweets that Remus has only seen a few times. Lily had bought at least one of everything, having never seen or tasted any of it before. 

The six of them eat and chat for a while as the train movies farther north. Daylight outside dims and Remus disengages for a while, staring out the window, harboring excitement deep within his chest. After a while, students start moving through the hallways, changing into their robes for Hogwarts. 

“Guess we should change.” James says, looking out into the hallway. The lot of them are dressed in their best attempts at muggle clothes, though none are very exciting. Remus is wearing an old flannel shirt that belongs to his father, and he’s reluctant to change out of it into his shirt, tie, and long black robe. When they all reconvene in the carriage, Lily is giggling at the ridiculousness of the robe.

“I’ll be tripping all over this thing!” She says, waving it around her. “I feel like a big bat, really.” She spreads her arms like wings and the boys laugh as she flaps them. She accidentally knocks Remus on the shoulder and draws her arms back, laughing apologetically. 

“Did you have uniforms at muggle schools?” Peter asks. Both Remus and Lily nod at the same time.

“Not with these ridiculous robes, though.” Lily jokes. “Just a shirt, sweater, and skirt. I got in trouble for wearing my P.E. kit as a regular uniform though.” She adds, which none of them understand, except Remus.

“P.E.?” Sirius asks. 

“Physical education.” Lily says, looking over at Remus, who smiles knowingly. “You know, we do gym, play football, and even swim sometimes.” 

“We had a sports day at my school.” Remus puts in, remembering it with a distinct lack of fondness. “The coach would pick you for whatever sport they thought you were best at, and you would compete with other teams.”

“What did they pick you for?” Lily asks, apparently the only one with a semblance of understanding of what he’s talking about.

“Volleyball.” Remus says with a red face, and Lily laughs again.

“Volleyball? Football? What are you on about?” Sirius asks again. Him, James, and Peter all look perplexed. 

“They’re sports.” Remus says stupidly, trying to find a way to explain. “Like Quidditch, you know? But muggle versions. Football, well. It’s very simple.” He continues, starting to smile. “You kick a ball with your foot, given the name…” Sirius looks a bit embarrassed at that, but Remus is only joking, and goes on. “You have a pitch, like the Quidditch field, but no flying, of course. There’s two goals, and different positions, and you try to kick the ball into your team’s goal. Volleyball, they play it on the beach a lot. There’s a net strung up between two teams, and you hit the ball with your arms back and forth, trying to make sure the other team won’t hit it back, but you have to stay inside the boundaries.” He pauses, having once again commanded the attention of everyone in the carriage. “There’s loads of muggle sports, you should read about them.”

“And they’re fun to play.” Lily adds, tucking a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. 

“That’s fascinating.” James says truthfully, looking mesmerized. 

“You can take muggle studies,” Remus offers. “There’s a lot you probably don’t know about.”

“That’s an elective.” James says. “In third year, we can start taking them, and I might, honestly. You lot are fascinating.” He continues, directing this more at Lily, who smiles at him kindly. Their conversation ends promptly when the train stops and they all realize why: they’ve arrived at Hogwarts. 

**s**

“I hate boats.” Sirius groans as he lowers himself into a small wooden boat, accompanied by Remus, Peter, and James. The boat only fits about four of them, and Lily and Severus had found their own. “Humans were never meant to be on water, it’s a sign, I’ll get way ill if I’m on this for too long.” He complains. Remus rolls his eyes as they sit in the small boat, which starts moving on its own accord. “Sea legs, you know? That’s what they call it when sailors come back to land- they can’t even walk straight. They get scurvy, go insane, all sorts of awful things.”

“Sirius, it’s like a ten minute ride.” James says laughingly as the boat picks up speed. Sirius has some more things to say, he always does, but resolves to keep them to himself and besides, his breath is taken away when the castle of Hogwarts comes into view. It’s safe to say that the rest of them have nothing else to say either, and they sit in a stunned silence with eyes on the huge, towering school.

The night is dark and rather chilly, and Sirius wraps his robes tighter around him as he stares up at the castle, struck dumb by the regal sight. The moon is a thin crescent in the sky but still casts light down on the boats, which are lit by small, flickering orange lanterns. There are great big cliffs at the edge of the lake, with the castle sitting menacingly on top of the hill, glowing gold at every window. It’s already home to Sirius, and his young face takes on a childish grin as they approach the castle, with it growing taller and taller over their heads until their boats reach the shore. 

James is first to clamber out of the boat, and everyone else debarks except for Sirius, who stands on shaky legs. Remus turns back to look at him as the other two head up towards the castle, chattering eagerly. Wordlessly, Remus extends a hand to Sirius, who takes it after a moment’s hesitation. He shakily and slowly gets out of the boat, leaning on Remus for a second before he takes his hand back and grins at the other boy with an embarrassed look.

“Really not a fan of sailing, eh?” Remus asks, and Sirius shakes his head.

“I’m sensitive, what can I say? Come on, let’s get up to the castle. I can’t wait for the sorting.” This, by all accounts, is a lie. Sirius is terrified for the sorting, but would rather just get it over with than feeling the tension any longer. Peter was right, on the train. It was strange to exist without house loyalties without a period of time. His family's overwhelming loyalty to Slytherin has been suffocating for Sirius, to say the least, and he wants the decision to be made and over with as soon as possible. The pair of them catch up with the rest of the first years as they enter the castle, and are almost immediately silenced by a severe looking witch, with greying black hair, a beaky nose, and sharp grey eyes that peer at them seriously from behind oval shaped spectacles.

“First years!” She announces loudly, in a strong Scottish accent. “The sorting will start in just a few minutes. You will all be called alphabetically to be sorted, and you will all be on your  _ best  _ behavior.” The chattering quiets rapidly, and Sirius takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Now, his nerves have gotten the best of him, and his stomach twists uncomfortably. The serious looking witch whose name Sirius had missed, stands at the doors to the Great Hall, where Sirius can hear the other students talking inside. His heart beats sickeningly hard, and he twists his hands together, hoping that none of his friends notice his twitchy anxiety, least of all Remus, who is standing right next to him.

Rather quiet and cool headed, from what Sirius can tell, Remus looks over at him and gives an encouraging smile. There are two twin scars across his face, bridging over his nose. One is shorter than the other and only braves his nose and cheek, while the other extends down to his lip, and Sirius wonders about how he got them. There isn’t much time for wondering, though, when the doors to the Great Hall open and the faces of nervous first years are flooded with light. 

They are marched through the hall and lined up around the wall, near the Ravenclaw table. The Slytherin table is in the middle, in between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Instead of marveling at the Great Hall like most of the other children are, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling or marveling at the floating candles, Sirius is scanning the Slytherin table for any familiar faces. Bellatrix catches his eye and gives him a weak smile. Her very halfhearted attempt at an apology for the argument on the train isn’t returned by her cousin, and Sirius tilts his chin higher and turns his face away from her. 

The sorting starts promptly, and Sirius feels a bit like dying. Two boys are called up, Bertnam Aubery and Sorrel Avery. Both of them are sorted into Slytherin, and as Sirius hears his name called, he can only hope that he’ll be the third in a row.

He steels himself and walks jauntily up to the stool with the sorting hat on it, hoping that everyone sees him as being confident, rather than scared out of his mind. Sirius perches on the stool with a straight back, but takes a deep breath as the hat is jammed onto his head.

“ _ Hmmm _ .” Says a raspy voice inside his head. “ _ Got a family of Slytherins, do you? Pureblooded- my, you have some big dreams. Well, Ravenclaws usually achieve what the put their minds to."  _ The hat tells Sirius, and he miserably thinks back- “Please put me in Slytherin.” “ _ Please put you in Slytherin?”  _ The hat mocks, and Sirius closes his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the entire school staring at him.  _ “Well, if you say so…” _

“Gryffindor!” The hat roars, and Sirius feels as though he’s been punched in the gut. There's a silence, just for a moment, where the students digest that the Black heir has just been sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin. The Blacks are a very well known wizarding family and Sirius could have spotted more than a few familiar faces in the crowd of students staring up at him in the ringing quiet of the Great Hall. Then, the Gryffindor table erupts into cheers as their first student is sorted into the house, and Sirius stands up with none of the easy confidence as before. He shakily descends the stairs and keeps his head down, hair in his face, as he walks over to the Gryffindor table. Despite the warm welcomes and handshakes from other students, he can feel Bellatrix’s angry gaze burning into him, and he lowers his head in dismay, feeling like a disappointment. 

Still, the sorting continues. Lily is sorted into Gryffindor and grins brightly at Sirius as she joins him at the table. He feels a sense of relief to have a friendly face with him at the table, and tries to put his dread behind him as Remus is called up for sorting. His robes are threadbare and too big for him, and Sirius wonders if they're secondhand. His brown fringe falls in his face as the hat gets dropped onto his head. Sirius and a few other people giggle as Remus tries to wipe his hair out of his face, but doesn’t have the chance to because the hat has declared him a “Gryffindor!” very quickly. Remus has a great smile, and looks genuinely ecstatic as he joins them at the table. 

He sits next to Sirius, across from Lily, and beams at both of them with a happy sort of pride that comes with the congratulations and cheers from older students paying him attention, the pride that Sirius isn’t sure he would have felt at any of the house tables. He hadn’t wanted to be in Slytherin, not really, but his family did. And that’s what had mattered.

When Peter sits down, Sirius is expecting his simple mind to be sorted out rather quickly, but it doesn’t happen that way at all. After three minutes, Sirius glances at his pocket watch to tell how long it’s been, and sighs loudly. Peter and the hat seem to be having a mental battle of wit, and everyone is staring intently at them. A few more minutes pass, and one of the older Gryffindors whispers to another-

“It’s been five minutes already. That’s a hatstall!” The words seem to catch, and Sirius glances around as whispers start to dominate the hall. Almost as though the hat had heard the students and decided that five minutes was long enough, it called “Gryffindor” in a voice that didn’t sound quite as loud as the declaration that came with Sirius’s. Still, the table cheers, and Peter almost falls down as he escapes the stool.

An older Gryffindor, a tall, dark haired boy with a long face pats Peter on the back.

“They call that a hatstall, Peter. What was it picking between?” Peter’s face is pale and he stammers out-

“Gryffindor and S-Slytherin.” He sputters as he sits down. Remus, Sirius, and Lily all offer him their congratulations, and Sirius wonders why on earth the hat had considered putting Pete in Slytherin. James is sorted next, promptly into Gryffindor, where he races down to the table with the same sort of pride as Remus, grinning grandly. The last person that Sirius plays attention to is Severus, who is sorted hastily into Slytherin. Brimming with an odd mixture of jealousy and relief, Sirius takes note of Lily’s forlorn sigh and her wave at Severus as he heads to the Slytherin table.  _ If only,  _ Sirius thinks.

**j**

James loves Hogwarts. He loves the Great Hall, he loves his friends, he loves the portraits, loves the ghosts, the food, the professors, the grounds- everything. And he’s only been there a few hours. After the sorting, the feast, and their headmaster Dumbledore’s introductory speech, the prefects lead the first years up to their dormitories. The male prefect for Gryffindor is a tall boy named Frank, who is cheerful and friendly but gives them a serious talk about rules before sending them up to bed.

Sirius is sulking, which James understands but can’t empathize with. Him, Remus, Peter, and Sirius are sharing a room together, and James is already tacking up Quidditch posters to the walls around his bed, while Remus and Peter chat amiably. 

“Fancy a game of chess?” Remus asks, having spotted a gorgeous chess set in the common room, which Peter agrees to at once. Peter is a menace at wizarding chess, James knows this from experience, and waves the two boys off before continuing to decorate his room while humming under his breath. Sirius had lay back on his bed with the curtains open, staring up at the ceiling in a melancholy type of way, while James finds a place to set up his record player. His father had bought it for him as a gift for his first year, since he's been collecting muggle records for years.  After a while, Sirius drags himself out of bed and starts pawing through his things, finding a piece of parchment but having no luck with anything else. Finally, he gives up, and turns back to James, who is organizing his records in an alphabetical fashion.

“James, d’you have a quill and some ink you could lend?” Sirius asks. 

“‘Course.” James says, abandoning his organizing to find Sirius a quill. “Didn’t you bring any?” He asks in a joking way.

“Of course I brought some, I just can’t find them. I’ve got to write to my family, they’re bound to be furious with me.” Sirius says in a miserable voice. James finds a pot of ink and a quill, which he hands to Sirius, who thanks him quietly.

“Cheer up, mate, it’s just houses. They’re still your family.” James settles himself back on the floor, examining his records. 

“ _They_ don’t have that attitude.” Sirius replies. He lays down on the floor on his stomach and sucks the end of the quill, immediately forgetting that it belongs to James, who resolves to let his new friend keep it. “They’re obsessed with everything happening the way they want it, and all of us have  _ always  _ been in Slytherin.” Sirius spreads his piece of parchment on the floor and begins to write, with the quill scratching noisily against the paper. 

“There’s more to worry about than what house you’re sorted into.” James muses as he puts on a record, hoping that Sirius won’t mind.

“True.” Sirius continues writing with a concentrated expression on his face. “That stupid hat, though, it tricked me.”

“Hm?” The sound of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band has filled the room, and James moves to the music, thoroughly still in a wonderful mood. 

“Stupid thing, I told it that I wanted to be in Slytherin, and it was like ‘really? if you say so’ and then he shouted Gryffindor and I was- god I was so hacked off-”

“Sirius, it’s a hat.” Sirius pauses, staring at James.

“Yes, I know.”

“You called it ‘he’.” James explains, and Sirius smiles, shaking his head. 

“Whatever, let me be angry, okay? Well…” But Sirius has lost his train of angry thought and shakes his head again, sitting back up straight. With A Little Help From My Friends has started up and Sirius nods his head along to the music. James has started singing along with Ringo in a quite decent voice. He shakes his shoulders to the beat and Sirius’s laughter develops while James struts around the room, rumpling his untidy hair and singing along to The Beatles.

Maybe things will be okay, after all. Sirius can get by, after all, with a little help from his friends. 


	3. [YR 1] Home Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote all this before i remembered that first years can't bring their own brooms or try out for quidditch or whatever. so basically i don't care and first years can do whatever the hell they want! power to the people!
> 
> lyrics are from the song "home is" by trophy eyes

_ make new friends who don’t know anything about you, it’s not a place but a person that feels like home _

**r**

Remus takes a while to figure out his uniform the next morning. In primary school, the uniform had been simple. The basics had been grey trousers and a white polo shirt with the school crest printed on it, but they had been allowed to wear jumpers, which Remus always did. He was always afraid of someone seeing the scars on his arms, rightfully so, and had essentially lived in the dark green school jumper, except when he had P.E. and when it became too hot in the late spring and early fall.

Now, he’s a bit overwhelmed by all the layers, though they’re less daunting when he puts them on. There’s a white button down shirt that takes forever to get on since he keeps putting the right buttons in the wrong holes. Then he tries to tie the gold and red tie, which he gives up on almost immediately, having never tied a tie before and not keen on teaching himself at 6:30 in the morning. He puts the deep necked jumper on top, admiring the red and gold trim, and then puts his black robes on top of them. There’s a red and gold crest on the side with the Gryffindor lion embroidered in the middle, which Remus runs his fingers over, feeling proud to make the same house as his father. 

Remus had stayed up last night writing a letter to his parents, telling them about his experience on the train, his new friends, the sorting, and the dormitories. Breakfast starts at 6:30 but their first class is at 9 o’clock. Remus wants to head up to the owlery to send the letter before class so he can keep his parents updated, and had woken up early because of James. 

Remus hadn’t slept well that night. He’s a very light sleeper and is prone to the occasional nightmare, but on this night had been kept up by Peter’s quiet weeping. Remus assumed that the boy was homesick and felt for him, but not bad enough to bridge the gap between their beds to comfort his new friend. Remus had missed home too, but not enough to cry about it. He had stayed over at friend’s houses before, and thinks of this as a great big sleepover, except it’s school and it’s magic and it’s all year, save holidays, for seven years. It’s a ridiculous prospect, and Remus is still shocked and immensely glad to be there. 

James had been up very early, around six, and Remus had only assumed that Peter’s crying had kept him awake too. Remus had heard James moving around in his far corner of the room and left it alone, trying to catch a few more hours of sleep. Unfortunately, once Remus was consciously awake, there was really no chance of getting him back to sleep. At around six thirty, Remus had pulled back the curtains to his bed to see James doing press ups on the floor by his bed, his face red with strain.

“What are you doing?” Remus had asked, although it was plain to see that James was exercising. James did a few more press ups and then sat back heavily, breathing out hard. 

“Press ups.” He responded dumbly. “Got to stay fit, especially if I want to make the Quidditch team.” Remus wrapped his blankets around him, shivering in the chilly air of their dorm.

“But we’re only first years?” 

“Hasn’t stopped anyone.” James replied briskly. He stretched, his face losing its red tint, and then got to his feet. “I’m going for a shower, then I think I’ll do breakfast- I want to make sure I know where all the classes are.” Remus nodded, mentally applauding James for his maturity, but James quickly reverted to his boyish self when he added- “This is so exciting!” Remus had agreed and nodded again before James went for his shower and Remus lay on his bed until James had finished.

Now, Remus staggers out of the bathroom with his uniform looking rumpled. Sirius is just waking up and yawns loudly from his bed while Peter slowly ties his shoes. James is organizing his textbooks and quills, finding the best way to cram them all into his bag. 

“Do any of you know how to tie a tie?” Remus asks his roommates. Pete doesn’t have his tie done, but James's is tied neatly around his neck. Although his uniform looks perfect, everything else about James's appearance is untidy. He's Indian, so he has thick black hair, but it looks ridiculously messy, as though he had been out in a tornado. There's a lopsided pair of glasses on his face, and his smile is bright, but crooked.  Surprisingly, James shrugs in response to Remus.

“I woke Sirius up to do mine, I’ve never learned how.” James says apologetically. Remus looks at Sirius with a pleading expression, who beckons him over sleepily.

“Class starts at nine, so I’ll be there at nine.” Sirius grumbles. “No need to be up early, no need for breakfast.” He stands up, thin and lanky in his nightclothes, and pulls Remus towards him by the end of his tie. “Stand still.” He instructs loudly before swiftly wrapping the tie in a complicated series of knots before standing back and admiring his work. He nods, his blue eyes trained on Remus’s neck, and Remus takes an instinctive step back, running his hands along the tie. “Don’t loosen it, now, it looks perfect.” Sirius instructs, sitting back down on his bed. 

“Thanks.” Remus says, glancing at himself in the floor length mirror by the door. Sirius had done a good job on the tie. Remus makes a mental note to ask him to teach him how to tie it at another time. The four of them stand in a tired silence that Sirius is first to break.

“You lot look awfully tired. Mattresses too hard for you?” He jokes, but James and Remus make eye contact. Peter looks away in shame. 

“Just not used to being away from home.” James lies quickly, scratching his head, and glancing at Remus. “Ready for breakfast?” 

“Sure.” Remus replies, looking at his supplies still packed into his case. “What subjects do we have today?” He asks James, who shrugs. 

“I’m bringing all my books, just in case.” He gestures to his bulging rucksack which Sirius laughs at.

“Just run back up here to get them after you get your timetable.”

“We’re all the way up in the  _ tower,  _ though.” Peter whines, finally joining in on their conversation. 

“Well, it is good cardio.” James says thoughtfully. “Good idea, Sirius. Come on, Remus, let’s do breakfast.” He ignores Pete, but Remus doesn’t ask about it. He follows James into the Gryffindor common room, and finally speaks when they’re in the hallway, heading down to the Great Hall.

“Did Peter keep you up last night?” Remus asks, having to speed up a bit to keep up with James’s brisk pace. 

“Yeah.” His friend sighs, running a hand through his untidy hair. “I felt a bit bad for not checking in on him, but honestly, we’re eleven. It’s not that bad. He’ll have to get used to this, and not keeping the rest of up with his crying.” He sounds a bit short and Remus resolves to let him eat breakfast before he discusses anything else about Peter with him. The dining hall is decently full, and James sits down at the table, quickly helping himself to a few pieces of toast. Remus is feeling rather nervous and plays with some eggs on his plate, looking around at the other Gryffindors. James had started eating quickly but slowed down and looks over at Remus. Just as he had suspected, James seems in a better mood after he’s gotten some food in him.

“I guess we should probably check on Pete, then. He’s one of us, after all.” Remus doesn’t know what  _ one of us  _ means and doesn’t get the chance to ask, because James’s face turns pale and intimidated at the sight of someone behind Remus. He turns around and nearly falls backward out of his seat when he sees Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, standing right behind him.

“Good morning Mr. Lupin.” She says in her terse Scottish accent. 

“Good- good morning, Professor.” Remus sputters, alight with surprise at seeing her at this hour in the morning, addressing him seriously.

“Your timetable.” McGonagall says, handing him a slip of parchment. “And yours, Mr. Potter.” James thanks her as he takes the paper from her hands. “Keep track of those, boys, they’re very important. Mr. Lupin, if you’re free, could I have a word with you privately?” James’s brown eyes widen and he stares at Remus, who looks as accosted as he feels.

“Er.. have I done something wrong?” Remus asks, looking up at his intimidating professor. Surprisingly, her face softens with humor. 

“Not at all.” She doesn’t elaborate, and Remus untangles his legs from the bench as he stands nervously. James mouths “good luck” as Remus follows McGonagall out of the hall, feeling anxious. “I trust you’ve settled in well?” She asks, and Remus shrugs. Things definitely could have gone worse. 

“Erm, if you don’t mind, what is this about?” Remus asks obliviously as they travel through the unfamiliar halls. 

“Remus.” She says gently, as though he’s stupid. “Your… disease.” He’s never really heard it called that before and balks, not knowing that she knew anything about it. “Professor Dumbledore told me. He wants to discuss the accommodations we’re making with you.” She says kindly, and Remus nods. The exciting whirlwind of the previous day had left him with little time to think about how he would handle the full moon, which takes place at the end of the month. 

“Of course.” Remus says. They’ve reached a great stone gargoyle, to which McGonagall says “Peppermint.” The gargoyle slides back and the wall disappears to reveal a great big spiral staircase. Remus stares up at it, waiting for McGonagall to lead the way. No such luck.

“Off you go.” She instructs. Remus takes another look at her before taking a deep breath and heading up the staircase, wondering what, exactly, Dumbledore has to say to him.

**s**

Sirius is just finished getting dressed when James bursts back into the dorm, presumably out of breath from running up to the tower. 

“Hi James, how was breakfast?” Sirius asks, taking note of the bright look in his friend’s eyes.

“Grand.” James replies, not elaborating. “Got my timetable.” He says, waving the piece of parchment in the air. “We’ve got History of Magic first, and Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch, and then flying after that.” 

“Ugh.” Sirius groans, cracking his back as he stands up. “Might as well have slept through History of Magic, right?” James tuts at him disapprovingly and picks up his backpack which looks significantly lighter with only two books in it, rather than all of them. “Where did Remus get off to?” Sirius asks with mild interest.

“McGonagall needed to speak with him, no clue why. I’m sure he’ll turn up for class.” They’re quiet for a moment before Sirius continues. “Pete alright?” James looks around as though expecting his friend to materialize.

“Dunno, I haven’t seen him. Did he keep you up too?” Sirius nods sullenly.

“Suppose it was a bit rude to call him out, earlier. But we’re a bit too old to be crybabies, at this stage. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, eh?” James beams at that, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“There’s your house spirit! Better get a move on, Black, we’ve got class.” James leads his tired friend out of the tower in decently high spirits, but they’re some of the last to arrive to History of Magic. Remus is sat at a desk next to Peter, but catches James’s eye when they arrive, and gives him a friendly nod. Their professor doesn’t seem to notice their late arrival, and in fact, doesn’t seem to notice much of anything. Sirius had heard the stories from Bellatrix and Narcissa both about the most boring class offered at Hogwarts, and he's finally growing to understand why they felt that way.

Professor Binns is a ghost, who had apparently died in his sleep one night and risen the next morning as usual, and had continued teaching class as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Sirius wonders if anything out of the ordinary had ever taken place in Binns’s life. The ghost floats at the front of the room and drones in a wheezing, slow voice that would put even the most stimulated wizard to sleep. Sirius crosses his arms on the desk and rests his chin on them, closing his eyes. Next to him, James had been attempting to take down notes, but only twenty minutes in it appeared that his strength had weakened, and he’s resorted to doodling in the margins of his notes.

They have class with the Hufflepuffs, who seem just as bored as their counterparts. Only a handful of students seem to be paying attention, including Remus Lupin, who is studiously taking down notes as Binns speaks. To Sirius, it’s almost like he’s speaking a foreign language, and no matter how hard he tries to listen, there is no retention of information taking place in his brain. What a shame. 

Although class is only an hour long, it seems to last for three. When the bell rings to signify the end of class, Sirius is half asleep, and has to be woken up by an insistent James, who is brimming with excitement and wants to make the most of his first day at Hogwarts.

“We’ll be here for _seven_ _years._ ” Sirius whinges, slowly packing away his parchment and quill, which hadn’t been put to much use. “You’ll see the whole castle, trust me.” James ignores him and starts instead talking to Remus, who has wandered over to them with Peter in tow.

“What did McGonagall want with you?” He asks with interest that Remus clearly doesn’t enjoy. 

“Er... just to discuss some… things.” Sirius now looks up at Remus, who apparently has an unfortunate tendency to blush, and has gone red in the face. Remus is probably the worst liar Sirius has ever seen, but feels grateful when James doesn’t press the issue, given how strongly Remus seems to not want to discuss it. The boys have spare periods until lunch, and Remus speaks up that he has to go up to the owlery. 

“Oh, me too.” Sirius puts in.

“Same.” James says.

“Yeah, I do too.” Peter adds. They’re all being truthful, and had all written letters to their families the previous night. None of them were as homesick as poor Peter, especially not Sirius, who had written an apology letter instead of one telling his parents about his excitement, his friends, and his classes. There are different priorities for different people, and Sirius seems to find that his involve keeping his parents from disowning him. 

So the four of them head up to the west tower of Hogwarts, getting ridiculously lost along the way, and accidentally knocking into far too many people on the narrow staircase leading up the owlery. None of them have their own owls, although James claims that he’ll get one for Christmas, or maybe his birthday, and they all tie their individual messages to the legs of the school’s numerous barn owls. The owlery smells foul and is very chilly, and Sirius is happy to leave it, nearly bounding down the stairs to return to the warmth of the school.

“It’s quite nice out, anyone fancy a stroll around the grounds?” Sirius asks. The rest of them agree with him and escape out into the warm September sunshine. Sirius loves hot summer weather and is nervous about the frigid Scottish winter to come. “Not too excited for the snow in the winter, it gets way colder up here than at home.” He voices his fears aloud, and James nods in agreement.

“Can’t say I blame you. Where are you from?” This is a question that Sirius hadn’t been expecting, and he frowns for a moment before answering.

“Islington, in London.” 

“Ooh, nice!” Peter says loudly. “London is so cool, I love visiting, especially the muggle parts. Islington is quite posh, isn’t it?” Sirius laughs a little, finding it an understatement.

“Yeah, it is. Only the best for the Blacks.” He jokes. “What about you?” Sirius asks, supposing that the question is directed at Peter.

“Around Godric’s Hollow, in Devonshire. James lives down the street from me.” James nods in agreement and looks over at Remus, who is looking with interest at a great big tree down by the Forbidden Forest. “What about you, Remus?” Pete asks.

“Hm?” The brown haired boy says, dragged out of his thoughts. “Oh, I’m Welsh.” He says, face reddening again. 

“You don’t sound Welsh.” Peter says.

“No, I guess not. I live up north, by Liverpool.” Remus mumbles, thinking about home. He lives in a tiny village, without so much as a high street, but he remembers visiting Liverpool and being fascinated and impressed by the grandeur, but always preferring his small town instead of the great big city. 

“Do you get snow?” 

“Nah, we’re too close to the sea. I don’t mind it though, it’s pretty. I like winter best.” Sirius makes a face, not being able to understand the darkness of the season. They walk the grounds and chat a bit more before the clock tower chimes the 12 o’clock bell, and they head back inside for lunch.

**j**

James hadn’t thought much of Sirius missing breakfast, just assuming that he wasn’t a morning person, but understands the careful orchestration of his friend as they enter the Great Hall for lunch. Sirius is smarter than James gives him credit for, and has kept his worries about his family generally well hidden from the rest of them. But when they sit down to eat, James notices Sirius’s twichtiness, the way he glances around as though being hunted, and the uncharacteristic paleness of his face. James notices most things. James usually notices everything.

At lunch, to James’s delight, they’re joined by Lily Evans and her friend Marlene McKinnon. Marlene is very tall, very thin, and very pale. She has long white blonde hair and a kind disposition, and starts chatting with Remus about Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which they’re all excited for. James tries his best to entertain Lily, who studiously ignores him and brushes him off while Peter works to impress her. All of the socializing is uncommonly ignored by Sirius, who doesn’t eat, and flips quietly through a small spellbook. His reserved silence makes perfect sense when an eagle owl flies into the Great Hall and swoops over the Gryffindor table, dropping a letter in front of Sirius.

The owl had caught the attention of most people in the hall, as mail is most usually delivered at breakfast, but the color of the envelope itself catches the attention of the Gryffindor table. Bright red. 

“Ooh!” Marlene squeals, sliding a little ways down the bench. “Better open that fast, Sirius!” Remus and Lily look mystified by the envelope, which has started shaking and smoking, but Peter, James, and Marlene all know better. Sirius is sat stock still, staring at the envelope.

“Is it on fire?” Remus asks quizzically, wanting to understand what’s happening.

“It’s a howler.” James says. “Go on then, get it over with.” Sirius bites his lip as he touches the envelope gingerly and very gently slides it open. All at once, a shrieking voice of anger is magnified for the whole Great Hall to hear, and Sirius’s face turns bright red, reminiscent of Remus’s when asked a direct question. James doesn’t know what to do, he’s powerless at comfort when Sirius’s mum’s voice can be heard throughout the whole hall, and he and the rest of their group listen in discomfort as Sirius is called useless, disgraceful, a dishonor, and a number of other words that make James wince. Finally, after what seems like hours, the howler bursts into flames and sends ashes and bits of ripped up paper all over the table, ruining their food. 

Sirius has been nodding along stoically to the howler and now looks relaxed, ignoring the raucous laughter from the Slytherin table. 

“Lovely woman, isn’t she?” Sirius jokes, but the rest of the group are serious, and look quite awkward.

“Blimey, Sirius.” Is all James can think to say. 

“Told you they’d be upset.” Sirius says in a much cheerier voice than before. “Pass us the potatoes, will you, McKinnon?” None of them really know what to say after the affair of the howler, and Sirius finally eats his lunch while the rest of them look at the remains of their food, covered with ash and charred paper. When the bell rings for Defense Against the Dark Arts, the lot of them are happy to leave the uncomfortable situation behind and head off to the next class. James had heard from older students about a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. The professor had been introduced by Dumbledore after the sorting, but James had been too exhilarated to be paying any attention. 

When they arrive in class, James finds that their professor is a shabby looking Irishman named Professor Weaver. He spends most of the class trying to explain what they’re going to be covering this year, but he spends so much time cracking jokes that his introductory lesson ends up being more of a standup show, and James leaves the class in stitches from having spent so much time laughing. He doesn’t even mind that they learned next to nothing, he’s young and would rather spend class time laughing than sleeping, which have been the two options for today. Besides, James’s biggest focus is flying class, which takes place right after Defense. 

“I’m dead chuffed that I’ve got my own broom.” James says braggily as they head down to the Quidditch pitch. It’s a beautiful day, warm and breezy, and James is highly excited to go for a few laps around the pitch. Unfortunately, he soon realizes that this is most definitely a beginner’s class, and finds himself bored and restless as Madam Hooch, their teacher and the Quidditch referee, instructs them on how to get the brooms to obey them.

The class stands in parallel lines and are to tell their brooms “up” with the desired response of the broom flying into their hands. James gets his broom to listen on the first try, as does Sirius, and while James tries to help Peter and Remus, Sirius chats with a Ravenclaw girl named Maggie. Once most of the students have managed to get their brooms off the ground, Madam Hooch teaches them how to mount and kick off their brooms. Again, Sirius and James are some of the first in the air, accompanied by two Ravenclaws- a pretty dark haired girl named Katie and a rather peaky looking fellow called Elliott. 

The four of them celebrate their talents, having obviously been riding brooms since before Hogwarts, and spend the rest of the class spinning laps around the pitch, with Madam Hooch paying less attention to them and more to some students with less of a proficiency for brooms- like Remus. When he finally manages to get himself into the air, James zooms down around him, causing his friend to start nervously and clutch the broom even tighter- his knuckles turning white.

“Not a fan of flying?” James asks, and Remus shakes his head. His face is pale and even a little green.

“Heights make me ill.” He responds shakily. 

“Guess you’re better suited for muggle sports, I suppose. Hey, maybe you could teach us muggle football someday, that would be a laugh.” James offers, and Remus smiles weakly.

“Sure, that could be fun.” Marlene flies over to them, doing better than Remus but still awkwardly shaky on the broom. James leaves them to talk as he soars upwards, Sirius on his tail.

“Race ya!” Sirius shouts, and James obliges. The pair of them race around for the rest of the lesson and are exhausted but happy when they finally touch back down on the grass. Madam Hooch gives five points each to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for their flying promise, and James is even happier when Katie approaches him as they walk back up to the castle.

“You were quite good out there!” She compliments in a distinct Manchester accent. “Will you be going out for Quidditch?”

“Yeah, it’s a dream to be captain one day. I’d love to be a seeker.”

“Right, I bet you’d do well. You know, if you ever fancied a match between houses, not on a team or anything, I’d love to. You, me, Elliot, your mate Sirius? We’d need a few more for real teams, but it could be fun, and good practice.” James beams at the prospect.

“Sure, that sounds grand! I’ll see if I can round anyone else up.” 

“Great.” Katie says with a relieved grin. The pair continue talking as they head back into the castle, and James feels a great warm presence in his heart, an even deeper love for his new home, and a gratitude for every good thing that it’s brought to him so far. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent way too long trying to spell owelry right and at the end of the day... i still don't know how (and have given up on caring)


	4. [YR 1] We Have An Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i just finished writing the 1st yr of this fic and.... it takes 18 chapters for me to finish 1 year. holy shit. perhaps i should consolidate more? (i just love characterizing these mfs.. this fic is gonna be like 200 chapters ngl)
> 
> content warning for a little gore in this one
> 
> lyrics are from "emergency" by paramore

_ the scars, they will not fade away  _

**r**

Remus has been enjoying Hogwarts monumentally, and everything moves so fast in September that he nearly forgets about the full moon. He wakes up on the morning of it feeling achey and tense, like he’s bound to snap at any moment. Two weeks ago, Sirius had finally sat down and taught him how to tie a tie, but Remus still struggles with it sometimes, and can’t be bothered to tie it this morning after contesting it for about ten minutes.

He arrives at breakfast late and upset, barely talking to his friends or even Marlene, who herself is worried about their Transfiguration assessment later in the day. He feels sick to his stomach and only manages a piece of toast and a glass of water before it’s time for class. They have Charms first, and on the way to class, Sirius notices his mangled tie.

“You need help with the tie, Remus?” He asks casually, causing Remus to look down at the stupid item that caused him so much frustration that morning.

“No, it’s fine.” He replies curtly.

“Don’t want anyone taking house points, though.” 

“I don’t care.” Remus growls. James is up ahead badgering Lily, Peter by his side, and Sirius looks at Remus with concern.

“Are you alright then, Remus?” 

“I’m  _ fine. _ ” Remus snaps back, regretting his impulse, but not knowing how to take it back. Remus isn’t fine anyways, he’s heart stoppingly anxious and feels a great deal of worry about the full moon that night. 

“Sorry I asked.” Sirius mumbles, pushing past him into the classroom where he grabs a seat next to James, leaving Remus with Peter. They have charms with the Slytherins, most of whom Remus finds unpleasant to work with, and he cannot for the life of him concentrate, while usually being a bright and eager student. Today, unfortunately, they’re practicing levitation charms, which are quite difficult. Peter is absolutely no help and speaks the incantation over and over again in his high pitched, reedy voice- “wingardium leviosa, wingardium  _ leviosa _ ” and brandishing his short wand at the feather lying in front of him with no clear progress being made. 

Lily, however, has lifted her feather clear off the table and beams brightly as she waves it through the air, eyes alight with pride. Remus feels a hot pang of jealousy in his chest and wishes that were him, doing something right, captivating admiring attention of the class. And then he wonders why on earth he’s thinking that, because he hates too much attention and would rather make good marks than be a show off, not that Lily is. She’s just talented. 

The day is a rather miserable one and after dinner, Remus leaves for the hospital wing, not wanting to spend any more time with his friends. Still, they seem to be inescapable.

“Oi, Remus, where are you off to?” James’s voice echoes off the empty halls and Remus turns around to spot the messy haired boy dressed in his Quidditch robes with his broom under his arm. James had eaten dinner quickly and left early to get some practice in, since team tryouts are next week, and he’s been trying to get some practice time in every day.

“Oh.” Remus says when he sees him, hating having to lie to his friend, and being bad at it all the same. “I’m feeling ill, I was going to the hospital wing.” James comes closer, looking concerned, and Remus hates him for an instant, wishing that he would just leave. 

“Do you want me to walk you?” James offers, always a gentleman, but Remus quickly shakes his head. 

“No, no thanks, it’s alright. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” James replies, still looking worried. “Feel better, mate.” Remus nods and watches as James waves him a goodbye before turning back down a different hall, headed to the pitch. Remus continues down towards the hospital wing, where he’s never been before. It’s cool and quiet, with clean beds lined up in perfect symmetry up and down the hall.

“Hello?” Remus asks timidly, closing the door quietly behind him. The wing seems empty until Madam Pomfery, the matron, appears. Remus had met her when he had spoken to Dumbledore about what would happen over the full moon, and she smiles warmly as she approaches him.

“Hello Remus, I wasn’t expecting you until a little later.” She says kindly, and Remus looks down, abashed.

“Right, well, I dunno, I was feeling a bit… a bit worried. Tense, I guess.” 

“Well, that’s to be expected.” She replies, pulling back a curtain to the window and glancing outside, presumably at the moon. “I suppose we’ll get you down to the… the house, now.” It is a house, the place they’re locking him up, but it looks very run down and unwelcoming. Remus and Madam Pomfery leave the school quietly and head down to the great tree at the edge of the grounds without any trouble, and they stand at the edge of the tree, watching as its huge arms swing back and forth with rage once they're close by.

Remus understands the rage, the anger, and he can feel the change coming, the animalistic fury inside him, the need to hunt, to hurt, to kill, to feast. He’s so hungry. 

“See, Remus, there’s a knot at the base of the trunk. When you touch it, the tree will stop for a few minutes, and that way, you can get in.” Pomfery explains, and Remus nods, looking closely at the knot on the tree. Pomfery waves her wand and the knot pushes in, so the heavy tree branches stop swinging and the two of them can hurry inside, down a very long and dark shadowy tunnel that frightens Remus. He will never admit it, but he’s always been scared of the dark, and being alone in this dark house brings back the more human emotion of fear. The wolf is never scared. The wolf is invincible, but Remus is terrified.

Once they reach the room at the end of the hall, Madam Pomfery looks back at Remus, so young and so innocent. So undeserving. She feels waves of sympathy for him, and watches as his face tightens while she prepares to leave. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Remus.” She wants to say something else- caution him to be safe or to be careful but it’s not like he can control himself. Remus looks in a bad state, pale and obviously upset, and she gets a sudden urge to hug him.  _ He’s so young.  _

“Goodnight.” He says to her bravely, as though they’re both just going to sleep. She casts him a sad look before retreating back down the hallway, locking him in for the night. Remus paces around the room for a while, his chest full of such tight anxiety that he feels like he can’t breathe and that he’s going to throw up. At home, at least he’ll know what will happen. Home is familiar and his parents will comfort him before and after the change, and he’ll lie in his own soft bed after everything is over, and his mother will dress the wounds that no one else has to see. Now, he has to hide everything from  _ everyone,  _ and worst of all, he has to lie to his friends. Remus hates lying, and is terrible at it all the while, so he doesn’t bother with it very much. He tries to comfort himself with thoughts of home, with talking with his friends in the common room, with sitting out on the grass under the sunshine, but nothing helps.

The wolf takes over. 

Afterwards, Remus never remembers much about what goes on his head when he’s a wolf. He’s angry, he knows that, and his world flashes bright red. There’s no real, human, thoughts inside his brain and instead he screams, screams that turn into howls and he wants  _ out,  _ he wants to tear apart everyone in the castle, bite the necks of his friends and taste their blood, tear out their throats, feel their flesh ripping inside his mouth. He thinks about their soft stomachs, tearing the fat from them and gnawing on their bones, lapping up the salty blood- he wants it so  _ bad.  _ He howls and throws himself at the walls of the house, crying out, needing to leave, needing to escape, needing to be free. The frustration builds beyond belief and he turns into a storm, invincible again but now he’s the only one who can stand up to himself- he scratches and tears, bites himself, scratches harder and harder at his own skin, watching the blood stain the floor but not drinking his own- he remembers the red and the anger and the relief in the release of pain and then he remembers nothing.

**s**

Sirius always sleeps in, he can’t help it, and awakes the next morning feeling guilty. Him and Peter had been worried last night when Remus hadn’t come to bed, but James assured them that he was probably just resting in the hospital wing and that they could visit him the next morning. Well, the next morning comes and passes with Sirius lying in and no one waking him, knowing the angry reaction they would receive if they woke him up on a Saturday, of all days. Still, when Sirius hasn’t come down for lunch, James sends Peter to go wake him. 

Of course, Sirius is upset to be woken up forcefully on the weekend, even though it’s already half past twelve, but he comes to his senses when Peter reminds him of Remus.

“Oh god, I completely forgot! I just assumed he would be back!” Sirius feels badly guilty about it all and dresses quickly, not bothering with the Hogwarts robes on the weekend. “Have you visited him?” He demands of Peter as he pulls his shoes on, tucking the laces into the sides to save the time it takes to tie them. 

“Not yet, we tried, but Madam Pomfrey said to come back later. So, it’s later.” Peter says, hurrying after Sirius as he rushes down to the hospital wing to meet James and, hopefully, Remus. 

“When did you go up before?”

“Early, about eight. James went to go practice for Quidditch and made me come down with him.” Sirius only hears the first part of his response, eight, and hopes that it’s late enough for Pomfrey to let them in. Apparently, it is, but they don’t find James outside. The brown haired matron gives them both a very serious talk about appropriate behavior in the hospital wing, and only then does she let them in. There’s an older Slytherin girl with her arm in a sling in a nearby bed, talking quietly with her friends, and then there’s a bed farther down the hall with white curtains strung around it. Sirius pushes past them without a worry and then finally sees Remus and James. 

Remus looks awful. His face is white and sweaty, and he looks like he’s about to be sick. He’s wearing a long sleeved shirt and trousers despite his apparent overheating, but lays on the bed without a blanket.

“Alright, Remus?” Sirius greets, sitting down at a chair next to James. “You had us worried last night.” Remus has a generally nervous demeanor, but today not even a direct question from Sirius (that requires him to lie, nonetheless) can bring any color to his pale face. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Remus lies, but in a more convincing manner than usual. “I get ill quite a lot, got a weak immune system.” He jokes and the three boys nod, still worried at the washed out look that their friend has.

“What’s wrong with you?” Peter asks, blushing. “Not, I mean, er, like, what sickness? Do you have?” James shoves him but Remus just smiles, not taking offense.

“Something like the flu, Pomfery said. You wouldn’t’ve wanted me in the dorms anyways, I was coughing up a right racket.” 

“Hmm.” James muses. “You want some food, or anything?” 

“No, I already ate.” Remus says, thinking. “Actually, there’s a book, up by my bed, if one of you wouldn’t mind-” Almost immediately, all three of them offer to go retrieve it for him and he looks a bit surprised to have them all trying to wait on him hand and foot. Sirius ends up being the one to retrieve it, understanding that Remus would prefer to be left alone but is too shy to say it, and manages to distract the other boys from him, promising to see him at dinner, and clearing them all out of the hospital wing. Sirius gets Remus’s book, a fat, heavy thing about magical creatures and brings it back to him but doesn’t linger. Remus looks like he could use the time alone, and besides, Sirius isn’t good at forcing himself to make conversation with unwilling subjects. 

So Sirius walks back from the hospital wing alone, feeling bored, trying to think of something to do. There’s an essay for potions, he knows that well enough, but it’s his last priority. James has probably gone down to play Quidditch, and Sirius would join him except he’s not going out for the team this year, and doesn’t want to interrupt James’s serious practicing. Sirius has no clue where Peter is and isn’t keen to look, so with a heavy heart, he heads off to the library, supposing that he might as well get started on the essay. 

Sirius thinks about Remus lying in his bed in the hospital wing, pale faced but still smiling. He’s only known Remus and the rest of his friends for a month, but he already feels a true connection with them, a feeling of belonging that he’s never really felt before. They’re like brothers to him, they truly are, and he appreciates them more than they could ever know. Still, he dreads the idea of going home without them, and after about ten minutes staring at his piece of parchment, he gives up again. Feeling restless, he paces back to the hospital wing, only to find Remus gone.

Groaning with frustration, Sirius heads back up to the Gryffindor tower where he finally finds Remus, stretched out on his own bed, writing a letter, and playing a record on James’s player. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Sirius says as he drags himself into their dorm room. “Having nothing to do is the worst, I’m so  _ bored _ .” He flops down dramatically on his bed and gets a pitying glance from Remus, who apparently has an important letter to write.

“Where are James and Pete?”

“I don’t want to interrupt James, he’s probably doing drills, and I can’t be bothered with Peter.” 

“Mmm.” Remus says, not listening. He’s lying on his stomach, his parchment propped up on a big textbook, and nods his head along to the music.

“This isn’t one of James’s records, is it?” 

“Oh, no. I got this one for my last birthday.” Remus starts to smile, and his face is suddenly and wonderfully alight with warmth. “These are the Rolling Stones.” Sirius knows absolutely nothing about muggle music, and had been fascinated by the Beatles, which James has a massive collection of. This band is a little grittier and less poncy and weird than the Beatles. More down to earth, Sirius supposes. 

“I know nothing about muggle music.” Sirius confesses as the record plays into silence. Remus gets up and walks over to James’s corner, squatting down to flip it. 

“These guys are quite good, my favorites are the Kinks, though. They’re so fun, I know James would like them. Maybe we can listen tonight.” Remus offers, dancing a bit as Side B starts to play. Sirius loves watching Remus dance the way he loved watching James dance, seeing his friends move to their favorite music. 

“They’re not American, are they?” Sirius says as (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction fills their dorm. Sirius is fascinated by Americans and their crazy culture, and is expecting Remus to say that yes, they’re from someplace insane and alien like Los Angeles, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, they’re from London. Mick Jagger, he’s their singer, he does sound American in songs, sometimes. It’s strange.”

“Mick Jagger?! What a crazy name, wow. He does sound like a rockstar.” Remus nods, mouthing the words to the song as he returns to his bed. 

“Well, you know what? I bought one of their singles from this year, they had a new record out in April, you want to listen? It’s huge with the muggles.” Remus says, leaping up from his bed again.

“Sure.” Sirius sits cross legged at the end of his bed, wide eyed with interest. His family looks down on muggles, but Sirius finds that they seem to have so much more  _ fun  _ than wizards. Wizarding music is no good, there’s no nuance to it, and hearing gritty guitars and swirling vocals from the crazy rocking muggles makes Sirius fascinated by their culture, obsessed with knowing more. 

Remus pulls Out Of Our Heads off the player and sticks on a little single that starts up with some guitar.

“It’s called Brown Sugar.” Remus explains, sitting down by the record player. Despite his excitement over the music, his face is tired and Sirius can only assume he’s exhausted from his illness. Sirius listens to the song, still trying to take apart Mick Jagger’s accent and make sure that he’s really not American. “Hmm, I love that lyric.” Remus puts in with a grin. “‘Cold English blood runs hot,’ the way he says that, it’s great.”

“What’s the song about?” Sirius asks.

“Oh, I’ve got no idea.” A saxophone solo takes over the middle of the song and Remus closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “God, what I’d give to see them live. One day.”

“You mean a concert?” Gasps Sirius. He’s heard tales of muggle concerts, with all the instruments electrically amplified, the musicians all drunk, the crowds rowdy- but had never even dreamed of attending one.

“Yeah.” Remus replies. “I’m gonna see them some day. It’ll be grand.” 

**j**

James Potter is the only first year who shows up for Quidditch trials. The team captain is a very tall, well built seventh year named Austin, who is frighteningly intimidating, even to the generally confident James. He had given himself a pep talk in the changing room before the trials had started, and strode out onto the pitch to immediately be ridiculed for his age, height, and glasses. Frustrated, James had proved himself to be an excellent flier and by the time trials are nearing an end, he was worn out but happy, and returned to the ground grinning. 

Austin cuts people over the course of the day, telling them to practice more and come back next year, but James is kept on until the final round of tryouts, where Austin releases a snitch and instructs him to chase it. Three people are assigned to try to hit James with bludgers, while Austin circles the air, watching him dodge and spin while the balls are smacked at him at high speeds. It takes a good twenty five minutes for James to catch the snitch, and after he does, Austin calls them back to the ground.

He asks one of the beaters to leave and then looks around at the rest of them. Six of them. This is it.

“Okay, lads,” Austin starts, not bothering to change his words to include the three girls, “you all did great work out there. I think we’ve got a splendid looking team right here, honestly. Shelby,” He says, acknowledging a third year boy with curly dark hair, “I’d love for you to be our keeper again.” Shelby smiles and nods. “Rosa, and Dottie, you two were great, and you’ll be our beaters.” The two girls are fifth years and are beautiful and scary to James, but they look very pleased at the news. “Yetta and Hyatt, you’ll be our chasers.” Finally, he turns to James with an oddly kindly look on his face.

“You’re great for a first year, James. Really.” James beams at him, unable to hide his giddiness. “You’ll be our third chaser.” James nods, taking great efforts not to jump up and down in celebration. “And I’ll be our seeker, of course. Great work, everyone. I’ll work up a practice schedule tonight and give it to everyone tomorrow.” It’s around 7 o’clock now, and they’re all worn out from a long day of flying. The team exchange their goodbyes and James heads back to the castle alone, still in his sweaty Quidditch robes but shivering slightly in the chill of the October air, excited to inform his friends of the good news.

“James!” Calls a voice from behind him and he turns around in surprise to see Rosa and Dottie a few yards back. Rosa has black hair and tan skin while Dottie wears short blonde curls. “Nice flying out there, Austin was impressed.” Rosa says, and James can feel himself blush from his hair to his feet.

“Thanks.” He says bashfully, feeling chuffed. “Nice of you to say.” That’s the end of their conversation, but James feels rejuvenated at having been complimented by a fifth year girl, and strides into the Great Hall in a spectacular mood. Sirius, Remus, and Pete are eating together, and Sirius looks up when James enters. He’s going at a fast pace, almost strutting with confidence, and as he glides past the Slytherin table, he doesn’t look down. So he misses the foot that Severus had stuck out, and trips hard, almost flying a few feet through the air, and ending up flat on his face in front of the Gryffindor table. 

There’s plenty of laughter from the Slytherin table, and a couple of chuckles from Gryffindor. Frank Longbottom, an older prefect, extends a hand to James who takes it with thanks, and wipes at the tears in his eyes which had sprung up when his nose had hit the floor.

“Bloody hell,” James swears, dusting himself off and shooting a malicious look over at Severus. “Greasy, slimy, git.” His grand entrance and feeling of bravado ruined, James cautiously walks the length of the table, finally sitting down next to his three friends.

“Quite a day you’ve had.” Sirius says, looking at him with interest. James’s hair is windswept, his face and nose red from the fall, and he smells like sweat from a hard day of practice. 

“Well, I made the team.” James says in a quiet voice, feeling rather embarrassed about the whole tripping situation. There’s a pause before Peter says,

“ _ What?! _ ” James looks up at him.

“I made it, Austin made me chaser.” Sirius sits back, looking greatly surprised, his hands outstretched.

“That’s brilliant! That’s great! Congratulations!”

“Well done, James!” Remus adds. Their warm words seem to shake James out of his daze, and he starts to pile a plate with food.

“Thanks, then, I was really nervous about it. The only first year at trials, and the older ones wouldn’t stop teasing me about my glasses but oh well, I made the team, didn’t I? Youngest Gryffindor playing this year, that’ll show Severus who’s best, right?” 

“Well, there’s more you can do than getting on the team.” Sirius says in a mysterious sort of tone, attracting the attention of the rest of them.

“What do you mean?” Remus frowns. Sirius and James had been developing an antagonistic relationship with Severus over the past month, and Remus hadn’t really known how to feel about it. It had upset him, frankly, since he had received his fair share of bullying at his muggle school, being made fun of because of his scars. They haven’t gone unnoticed at Hogwarts, either, even Severus had made a dig at him in Potions class, once. Sirius had turned around and said “deprimo!” loud and clear, causing Severus’s potion to explode under pressure. Sirius had received a detention for it, but Remus had been grateful for his friend coming to his defense.

Now, James listens as Sirius tells him all about his plan to prank the Slytherins, all of them, as a whole. Peter looks nervous about the entire situation and Remus, always reserved, has kept his thoughts to himself, just watching them seriously and listening very closely. 


	5. [YR 1] Just Stupid Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from basement noise by all time low which is a very nostalgic song :')

_ we used to be all hypothetical, a fever dream, can’t get hysterical  _

**r**

In October, the full moon is on the 27th, so Remus gets to enjoy the month without much worry of his transformation. The September transformation had been awful, worse than he had had in a long time, and he dreads the one in October, especially since Sirius is making fanatical plans for Halloween. 

Severus, James, and Sirius had become more and more unfriendly to each other, especially after Severus had tripped James after Quidditch trials. Remus himself has thick skin and didn’t take personal offense to Severus sneering at him and making fun of the scars on his face in front of the class, he had forced himself to grin and bear it, but he can’t shake the way James’s face had fallen after Frank had helped him up, how he had insulted Severus, loudly, how he had been angry and bitter. 

Sirius can be bitter, even Remus can be bitter, but it doesn’t look good on James. James is supposed to be honest, happy, and reliable, but when he isn’t, Remus can’t help but try to distract his friends from their malicious planning. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling Potions class, most of the Gryffindor first years had returned to their dormitories to change clothes that had gotten stained with countless nasty potions ingredients. 

Remus had returned to the common room to find the windows open to a surprisingly warm afternoon for mid October. Lily, Marlene, and their new companion Mary MacDonald had been talking with Peter, who is probably the most social out of Remus’s friends. The boy, although small and rather annoying in a younger brother sort of way, still speaks easily and always has something to say to get a conversation going.

“Alright, Remus?” Mary asks, smiling at him. She has dark brown skin with almost a golden shine to it, and an afro with tight curls. 

“How’s it going?” Remus asks as he approaches them. He’s ditched his robes for muggle clothes, jeans and a long sleeve shirt that make him look spindly. 

“Are James and Sirius still upstairs? I was thinking we could finally have ourselves a game of football.” Lily says, color high in her cheeks. Remus had been in a good mood and left his friends in their dorm to change so he could chat with the rest of his friends in the common room, but he doesn’t know what they’re up to. Recently, James and Sirius had seemed to get closer, which upset Remus for reasons he can’t quite place. He tries not to think about it now, but he realizes that their friendship seems to be more developed than anyone’s with his, and accepts it. They’re all still close, but Sirius and James are closer than anyone.

“I’ll go see what they’re up to.” Peter offers, always eager to help, but he doesn’t have to. The boys have come back from upstairs, James’s hair as untidy as ever, and Sirius’s tied in a ridiculous ponytail that has everyone laughing. 

“Love the hair, Sirius.” Mary laughs, but Sirius tosses the ponytail back, grinning at the attention. Lily has stood up, her own dark red hair tied back, looking suddenly commanding.

“Come on, then, let’s go have a football match.” James looks absolutely thrilled at this and exclaims “grand!”, which is a piece of his individual vocabulary that nearly all of them have picked up on and started using by now. The seven of them head outside into the golden glow of fall sunshine. The first years have Astronomy lessons tonight, class is only once a week at midnight, and they always stay up late, loud and joking in the common room after dinner while waiting for midnight to come. Remus loves these nights best, is excited to spend even more time with his friends before dinner.

Although thin and wiry, Remus is completely unathletic. He knows how to play football, at least, but lets Lily take over with the directions. Mary herself is also muggleborn, and is excited to see how the purebloods’ first experience with the sport goes.

“Okay, well. To start, we need goals.” Lily says with her hands on her hips. Already, their game seems to be losing direction.

“Here, I’ve got an idea.” Remus offers, walking over across the grass. He crouches on the ground, points his wand at a random patch of grass and says “colovaria” to change the patch of grass from green to a bright orange. He changes three more patches to represent goals, and accepts the impressed compliments of his friends on his charm skills before Lily continues.

“There’s two goalkeepers, just like keepers for Quidditch. So all you have to do is stop the ball from going in.” Remus, not keen on running around, offers to tend one of the goals, while Peter volunteers for the other. That leaves five of them. Lily, James, and Marlene form a team while Sirius and Mary make up the other. “It’s quite simple from here.” Lily explains. “There are set positions, in real games, but we don’t have a full team. Just kick the ball to each other, and try to get it in the goal. No magic!” And as simple as that, they start. 

It’s probably the most fun that Remus has ever had playing football, even as a goalie. Although a good Quidditch player and the fittest out of all of them, James’s coordination with his feet seems to be less than impressive, but Sirius proves himself to be a decent player, and works well with Mary. Lily mainly plays offense while Marlene tries her best to defend, but at some point, she steals the ball from Mary and races down the pitch, her blonde hair gleaming white in the sunlight as she sprints towards Remus, the ball so far out in front of her that she hardly even has to dribble. 

Remus has never been scared of Marlene, out of all of the girls it’s Lily who would frighten him most, since she’s so smart and has such strong convictions. But in the golden sun, her muggle trainers kicking the black and white ball fast, coming right up on top of Remus, he feels intimidated by the tall, blonde girl who shoots and scores on him, having made a misguided dive for the ball and missing. Marlene turns around, long hair swinging freely behind her, and high fives James with both hands before doing the same to Lily.

Looking back, that scene had changed Marlene forever in Remus’s eyes.

But in the moment, he picks himself off the ground, noting the grass stains on the knees of his shabby jeans, and keeps playing. After a while, Mary offers to goalkeep for Remus, which he really has no choice but to accept. Then comes the real thrill, racing down the pitch side by side with Sirius, having the ball passed to him, scoring on Peter and getting to shout in victory with Sirius high fiving him like he’s good at this, good at something, for once, and Remus would like to live in that football game forever. 

At about six thirty, the sun has set enough that they can’t make out their goals anymore, and they stop playing, exhausted. The football is Mary’s, she had naively brought it from home in hopes that someone would know how to play, and she runs it back up to her dorm before they settle down for dinner. Dinner is a slow affair, with all of them knowing that they’ll have time to spend with each other in the common room, before Astronomy lessons. None of them ever take Astronomy too seriously, since they’re eleven year olds up at midnight, but their professor, an older and kindly woman, understands and lets them off quite easily, especially since their class only takes place four times a month.

The seven of them play a game of never have I ever, which Remus soon learns that wizards don’t play either. James and Sirius, as always, prove to be fascinated by things that muggles come up with. Marlene and Peter are both purebloods but seem less shocked by the game, like they’ve spent more time in the muggle world, which Remus supposes they must have. 

“Have you heard of truth or dare?” Mary asks in exasperation when Sirius asks her to explain the rules again.

“Of course.” Sirius says defensively. “We all know that one, for sure.” They all hold up ten fingers and sit in a circle, tucked into the corner of the common room while a few fifth year students spread their notes out on the main table and discuss OWLs with each other, trying to get some early studying in.

“Okay.” Mary says confidently, starting their game. “Never have I ever stolen from a shop.” Remus puts down a finger, along with an embarrassed looking Lily. 

“Muggles,” scoffs Sirius as he thinks of a question. “Never have I ever fainted.” Remus has fainted from the pain of transformations countless times and puts a finger down, happy to see that James lowers one as well. The questions continue- never have I ever: gotten stitches ("they sew your _skin_ together?!"), been electrocuted, shot a gun ("muggles are _so_ primitive"), cheated on a test. The pureblood families try to keep their answers catered to the others and discuss events that can be applicable to all. They tell their own personal stories and get to know each other well.

It feels like home, with a fire blazing merrily in the fireplace and the talking of the older students around them. Finally, a little before midnight, the seven of them meet up with the other Gryffindors to head up to the Astronomy tower.

**s**

Sirius excels at Astronomy, not just because he’s named after a constellation, but because his entire family is named after astronomical bodies. It’s ridiculous, truthfully, but Sirius is only grateful for it because he’s grown up being shown maps of the stars, and finding his own shape of a dog among them, having something to call his own.

On the way up the tower for class, Sirius hears his name being called from the darkness. Well, he doesn’t hear it, Remus does first.

“Oi, Sirius, the shadows are whispering your name.” Remus says jokingly, and Sirius laughs and continues on his way before Remus stops him. “Really, I think your cousin is back there.” He’s still sort of laughing, not understanding why pale faced Bellatrix is standing in a shadowy corner, calling his name.

“Sirius!” She whispers furiously, gesturing for him to come over to her. James has been carried away with the rest of the group, and Remus has stayed behind, frowning at Bellatrix.

“It’s alright, Remus, I’ll catch up with you. If Professor Brooks asks, just tell her I’ve gone back to get my notes.” Remus hesitates a moment longer before nodding and leaving Sirius in the dark hallway.

“What do you want, Bella?” Sirius asks, angry, but still referring to his cousin by her old nickname. 

“Would you like to have tea with me?” She asks innocently, and Sirius frowns, feeling accosted. 

“What, now? I have class, it’s midnight.”

“No,” She scoffs as though he’s stupid. “Tomorrow, or Friday. Sometime this week.”

“Why?” Bellatrix looks fed up and she rolls her eyes very dramatically as though she doesn’t have an answer for him. “Fine, okay, fine. Where?” She adopts a wicked look that someone who’s planning on putting someone through a situation of immense displeasure gets on their face. Sirius likens this expression to one that he’s seen on his mother’s face countless times. 

“Slytherin table?” Sirius feels sick and twists his face nervously. He knows what his friends will think of the whole situation, but he also knows that this would please his family, even though it’s just a small gesture.

“Fine.” Sirius says quietly. “D’you have any spare periods?” He asks, not wanting to eat with her at a busy meal. Bellatrix cackles nastily.

“I’m a seventh year, Sirius, not a child. You’ll meet me at dinner, I presume?” Sirius thinks of an excuse: detention, a test to study for, a previous appointment, but there’s nothing he can use to get out of this. 

“Okay, sure. Fine. Dinner tomorrow.” Bellatrix smiles at him, but it’s cold, and he watches her black eyes flick up to his hair, still forgetfully tied in the ponytail from the football game. 

“Take your hair down, Sirius, you don’t want people thinking you’re a fairy.” She says the words sharply and quickly before taking her leave, walking with pronounced footsteps down the hall, her long black hair waving behind her. Almost immediately, Sirius takes his hair out of the ponytail, feeling ashamed for wearing it up in the first place. He rushes off to the astronomy tower, trying to put the conversation behind him, but can barely focus in class and leaves feeling upset and frustrated, his eyes foggy from staring through a telescope for an hour, having taken no notes.

“Sirius, you didn’t see Saturn up there, did you? I couldn’t find it-”

“Be quiet, Peter.” Sirius snaps, out of character, and takes a deep breath. “Sorry, Pete, sorry, I’m just tired. I didn’t see it, but I can probably estimate it tomorrow.” Pete mumbles a quiet thanks under his breath, as though Sirius hadn’t been genuinely rude to him a moment ago, and the boys walk back up to their dorm in silence. James and Peter fall asleep almost as soon as they’re in bed, but Sirius lies awake and he can tell that Remus is up too.

After a very, very long while of thinking it over, Sirius pushes back his bedsheets and tiptoes across to Remus’s four poster. 

“Remus?” Sirius whispers, prodding at the curtains. Almost immediately, Remus draws back the curtains, looking amused.

“Was wondering when you’d turn up.” Remus holds the curtain back and Sirius climbs on top of his bed, sitting cross legged at the end of it. Remus had been half under the covers with a book open on his lap. His wand is lit up with a cool, white light. He looks different in the unnatural light, his eyes dark and the scars on his face looking almost monstrous. Like he has so many times, Sirius wants to ask how he got them, but holds himself back. It’s a dastardly impolite thing to ask, but Sirius can tell that Remus knows they want to ask. He just doesn’t want to tell them. 

“I’ve been trying to figure how to cast a silencing charm, but I can’t just yet.” Sirius explains in a whisper.

“I know.” Remus replies tiredly. It must be around two in the morning at this point, and they still have to be up early for Charms class in the morning. Still, that’s the joy of Wednesday nights. The fun of it all. “I hear you and James talking.” Sirius’s eyes widen, and Remus continues. “Not that I listen, which I don’t, and I can’t really hear your words. Just your voices.” This is another lie, Remus’s lycanthropy has made his hearing startlingly perfect, and he could hear what Sirius and James were talking about if he chose to listen in, but he usually smothers his ears with a pillow and tries to sleep. It usually works. 

“Oh, sorry. I’ll have it figured out by, well, next week, at the latest. I hope.” Sirius says worriedly. “I’ll talk to Lily about it, she’s wicked good at charms.” 

“You do that.” Remus says, finally closing his book. “What happened with Bellatrix?” Remus has only heard the worst about Sirius’s cousin, and he finds it difficult to explain his mixed feelings about her, and the entire Black family. 

“She wants to have  _ tea  _ with me, don’t ask me why. I’m just worried about it, because I’m sure that my mum has some evil plan worked out to get me to hate all muggles, and it’s not going to work, because I refuse to be brainwashed.” 

“What if you went along with it, though?” Remus ponders. “Just pretend… pretend, a bit, I guess. Don’t give them a reason to hate you.” The idea is tantalizing, and it would be so easy for Sirius, who is a talented actor, but he can’t bring himself to believe in the inequality that his parents do. He simply can’t.

“I’m not a coward.” Sirius replies quietly. “I can’t say awful things that I don’t believe in. I won’t.” Remus breathes out, breathes in, sits in silence.

“If you ever questioned why you’re a Gryffindor, I think what you just said makes it clear.” Sirius looks up at Remus in almost a state of alarm. “You’re brave.” Remus adds, making direct eye contact with the black haired boy at the foot of his bed. Sirius almost feels chills down his spine, and shivers. 

“I just… god, Remus, I just  _ hate  _ them. I would never hurt them, or anything, they’re my family, but god, they make me so angry. I hate them, and I hate myself for hating them.” Remus lowers his head and nods again, the picture of silent wisdom.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Sirius is suddenly combative, despite himself. “Do you hate anyone, truly?” 

“Yes.” Remus doesn’t even hesitate, but now refuses to meet Sirius’s eyes. In the light of the wand-lighting charm, Remus’s eyes aren’t right. Sirius has spent a good amount of time (probably too much) trying to decide what color Remus’s eyes are, and he’s decided that they’re hazel, with a tint of gold in the right light. Remus makes such direct eye contact when he wants someone’s attention that it’s hard not to examine his eyes, but now, they look a muddy grey in the white light, and won’t meet Sirius’s.

“Who?” But Remus shakes his head, not telling. He finally looks back up at Sirius, face drawn. “It can be a secret.” Sirius says in an even lower voice, but Remus stays still, his face giving away nothing, his eyes serious. His lips are sealed.

**j**

James is suddenly and totally overwhelmed by everything taking place in his life.

He had been homeschooled by his parents for most of his life, and had so far been getting along in classes okay, but their workload seems to pick up just when Quidditch practice picks up, conveniently at the same time that he and his three best friends have resolved to orchestrate a massive prank on the Slytherins.

He finds it hard to catch his breath and have any spare time, and works from dawn till dusk. After their late night astronomy class, he wakes up at six in the morning like usual to exercise. On Mondays, Gryffindors reserve the pitch for morning practice, and James is relieved not to be up at 5:30. He does it without complaint, though. James has never not had a reason to wake up in the morning, never lain in tiredly and craved more sleep, never been upset about not resting enough. Even in the summertime, he always feels guilty for lying in.

So James does press ups, sit ups, crunches, lunges, and a host of other exercises to wake himself up. Then he goes for a shower, and by the time he’s done, Remus is awake. They have a routine set by now, and James finishes last minute homework and organizes the area by his bed while Remus gets ready. The two of them go down to breakfast together and are often joined by Peter, but never by Sirius, who makes the most of his sleep, but always wanders into class generally on time. 

They have Charms class first, where James finally perfects the unlocking charm after Lily shows him how to do the backwards “s” movement with her wand. Lily is ace at charms, probably the best in their class, and James had gradually moved himself closer to her over the month to pick up on her secrets and learn from her. When class ends, James buries his face in A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration during their free period, and is one of the first students to complete a switching spell during class. Feeling rather proud of himself after a direct compliment from Professor McGonagall, James eats lunch with his friends but leaves early for the library during his free period, trying to study potions, which he’s generally rubbish at.

And then they have potions, where Professor Slughorn gives a demonstration on how to brew a forgetfulness potion and then instructs the class to do the same. James is set to work with Sirius, who has only a small semblance of what to do, and spends most of the class throwing things into Snape's cauldron when he isn’t looking. 

“Sirius, do I stir this five times clockwise or anti clockwise?” James asks after most of class has passed, scratching his head in confusion. Sirius looks down at their murky potion. 

“Er.” Sirius says, squinting at the potion. “Should it be that color? Remus’s looks, well, pink.” James cranes his neck to get a look at Remus’s potion, which is a deep, raspberry pink. “Hm, what direction have you been doing?” Sirius asks.

“Clockwise, the first time, but that was before I added all these ingredients.” 

“Maybe do anti clockwise then, just for fun.” James glares at him and turns to poke Remus on the shoulder, getting his advice on it. In the end, both Remus and James had done the potion wrong, although James had mucked it up far worse than his friend. They leave the dark dungeons feeling exhausted, and while his friends are headed to the library to work on their essay for transfiguration, James has to race down to the Quidditch pitch to make it to practice on time. 

“Sorry,” he pants, looking around at the other team members who are all dressed and mounting their brooms. “Got caught up- lots to do, I’ll be back in a minute.” He changes so fast that he puts his robes on backwards but can’t be bothered to flip them back around, and is promptly cornered by Austin Lacework, the captain, before he can exit the changing room.

“James.” Austin says seriously. “It’s rare that we have a first year on the team, and you’re promising, but if there’s too much going on, please let me know if you can’t make Quidditch a priority.” It’s a very serious, crushing sentence, and James finds himself embarrassed by his lack of time management skills.

“No, no! I’m getting into a schedule, just working things out, I’ll be fine. I promise, Austin, I won’t let you down.” James says this as bravely and with as much confidence as he can manage, but he still sees the mistrust in Austin’s face. Of course, letting an eleven year old fly as chaser on your team is a questionable decision. “I’m really grateful, honestly. I’ll be on time from now on.” James adds. Austin nods, and the two of them return to the pitch, where the rest of the team has started warming up.

Practice ends at five thirty, and after two and a half hours of grueling drills, James feels like he could sleep for days. One of the other chasers, Yetta, is a sixth year. She’s probably the best chaser in the whole school. Her aim is always dead on, her speed unrivalled, and she knows tricks that James could only dream of. She seems to carry the dead weight of James, who is still getting his bearings in the new position, and Hyatt, a second year who’s a bit slow on his broom but has a powerful arm and good aim.

Hyatt chats with James as they head back up to the castle, offering to help him get his lessons and homework organized.

“I have a schedule I used last year, Quidditch wasn’t on there, but you can change it around a bit.” 

“Cheers, Hyatt, that’ll come in handy.” James responds, taking up any help he can get. 

“Are you going to dinner now?” Hyatt asks, and James briefly wonders if the boy wants to eat with him.

“Nah, I’m dead tired, I think I’ll come down later.” 

“Fair enough. See you later.” Hyatt says when they reach the staircase that leads to Gryffindor tower. James climbs it while Hyatt presumably heads to the Great Hall for dinner. Tomorrow is Friday, and all they have is double Herbology and flying, neither of which James has to do much to prepare for. The dorm room is blessedly empty, and James collapses on his bed, falling asleep without any hesitation at all. 


	6. [YR 1] Static When I Close My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "the plan (fuck jobs)" by the front bottoms
> 
> tbh i enjoy writing practical magic so much it's so Exciting so i had lots of fun w this chapter

_ once you fuck with fire all that’s left to do is burn, baby, burn; baby, burn _

**r**

Remus eats dinner with Marlene and Peter, trying to ignore the absence of both Sirius and James. James had Quidditch practice after classes but hasn’t been seen since, and Remus can only assume that he’s gone to get some well deserved rest. Sirius is eating at the Slytherin table, which had come as a surprise to all of the Gryffindors in their friend group, and Remus finds himself unable to draw his eyes away from him, who seems to be enduring an unpleasant conversation with Bellatrix.

His cousin is absolutely one of the most intimidating people that Remus has ever met. She has tight curly black hair that she’s piled on top of her head, letting some of it trail behind her. She wears very dark eye makeup and lipstick, which she sometimes changes the color of. Tonight, it’s a very dark, serpentine green. Bellatrix wears her white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and her green and silver tie is loose around her neck. Her skirt, although the official Hogwarts one, always seems ridiculously short when Remus sees her, and tonight at dinner, he decides to ask Marlene about it.

“How does she get her skirt so short? I swear, every time I see her, she’s managing to flash someone.” Marlene giggles, surprised to hear Remus talking about his best friend’s cousin flashing people.

“I think she rolls it.” 

“Hm?” Peter asks, apparently fascinated by the tricks of girl’s clothing.

“You roll up the waist to make it shorter. But then there’s an odd roll of the skirt under your shirt, so I don’t know how older girls get rid of that. I don’t bother.” Marlene mumbles, and Remus is glad she doesn’t. “She’s kind of beautiful, though, isn’t she?” Marlene has her chin resting on her hand and is gazing at Bellatrix, who seems to be towering over Sirius in a way that upsets Remus, wishing he could find a way to protect his friend. 

“I think she’s awful.” Remus mumbles. His friends look at him, and he quickly backtracks. “I mean- she’s quite  _ scary,  _ don’t you think? She scares me.” 

“Yeah.” Peter turns a full one eighty to take a good look at Bellatrix, before turning back to Remus and Marlene. “Have you heard the gossip? Apparently she’s going out with Rolodphus Lestrange.” He says Rodolphus’s name in a lowered voice, and Marlene frowns.

“Where’d you hear that?” 

“Who’s Rodolphus Lestrange?” Remus asks, clueless. 

“Remus, for someone with a wizard in the family, you don’t know much about our world.” Marlene says, not in a mean way, but truthfully. Still, Remus blushes and looks embarrassed. “Rodolphus, well…” She leans in conspiratorially and so do Remus and Peter, looking at each other seriously. “His family's in cohorts with Voldemort, you know. They do all sorts of dark magic. I think Bellatrix, and Sirius’s family in general… they’re getting all passionate about the dark arts.”

“Sirius isn’t like them, though.” Remus says quickly, immediately standing up for his friend. “He’s the opposite of his family, he doesn’t believe in any of that.”

“Of course, right.” Marlene looks nervous, though, and clears her throat before changing the topic. The three of them stay through the end of dinner, still waiting for Sirius and Bellatrix to finish, but when it’s past eight o’clock and the majority of the students have left, Marlene convinces the boys to head back up to the common room. 

Remus sits by the fire while reading one of his muggle books. He’s been trying to get into American literature, interested in the difference in cultures, and is reading one called The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It’s hard to understand at times but Remus is smart and puts the pieces that make sense together in his mind to fill the blank spots where their dialect is completely unintelligible. Still, he finds it hard to focus as his friends play a particularly loud game of exploding snap, and thoughts of Sirius won’t leave his mind. Remus is worried about his friend, and almost immediately when curfew begins at nine, Sirius climbs through the portrait hole looking oddly heroic.

“Sirius!” Remus exclaims as his friend struts into the common room, a mischievous grin splitting his face.

“Hello Remus, what say we head up to the dorm? I have some plans to discuss.” Sirius shoots a knowing look at Peter, who abandons his game with Mary and Marlene almost right away. Remus snaps his book closed and the three of them say hasty goodnights to the girls before running up to their dormitory. James is in bed, fast asleep, snoring softly, but Sirius obviously couldn’t care less.

“Oi! Potter!” Sirius marches over to his bed and smacks his friend on the shoulder. 

“Eurghh…” James moans, rolling over and burying his head under his pillow. “I’m sleeping!” He complains, but starts sitting up, knowing that his presence is needed. 

“It’s nine o’clock, James, honestly.” Sirius says in a no-nonsense type of way.

“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise!” James cheers, reciting a quote that he seems to have saved just for this exact situation. “Blimey, I’m starved. Did you really let me sleep through dinner? I was just going for a nap.” His hair is as messy as ever, but Remus notes the dark circles under his eyes, and feels a wave of sympathy for him. 

“We thought it would be best to let you sleep.” Remus offers politely, sitting on the floor next to James’s record player. Sirius perches on the edge of James’s bed, and Peter hovers nervously, always a little out of place between the four of them. 

“Right.” James scratches at his hair, adjusting his glasses. “Well, what’s up?” 

“Okay, well, I had tea with Bella today.” Sirius begins, earning a shocked look from his best friend.

“You did  _ what _ ?!” James demands. Like Remus, he’s been told the worst of Bellatrix, and already has his own preconceived notions about the Black family. 

“I had tea with her.” Sirius repeats in a calm voice, his tone casual, like he hadn’t been panicking yesterday night, desperate on Remus’s bed, nearly begging for advice and a friend to talk to. Now, he acts as their late night conversation had never happened. “And,” he continues, shooting a telling glance at Remus, “I groveled.” 

“No.” Peter gasps.

“ _Yes_.” Sirius looks triumphant, completely natural to have listeners hanging on his every word. 

“Well, maybe not groveling, but I definitely got all weak and emotional and sensitive, or whatever.” Sirius talks like being weak is the worst thing a person could be and Remus keeps his face straight, wondering what Sirius would think if he saw him the morning after a transformation, shaking and crying and weak; anything but strong. He wonders what Sirius thought of him in the hospital wing back in September. “So I made Bella feel like I was torn, or whatever, and needed guidance and her and her prat of a boyfriend invited me to the Slytherin common room on Saturday, so they could continue brainwashing me.” There’s a ringing silence in the dorm as the boys try to put the pieces together.

Finally, an exasperated James, asks the golden question.

“So what?” 

“So what?” Sirius parrots. Remus has to give it to him, he’s wonderful at getting everyone to pay him perfect attention. “So easy, I get into the Slytherin common room. I can leave them a nasty, wicked, wonderful surprise.” 

“Ohh.” James says, eyes widening, finally understanding.

**s**

Sirius attends double Herbology on Friday morning, but bunks off flying with the rest of his friends and spends the rest of the day in the library, not writing his transfiguration essay, but instead trying to find a prank worthy enough to play on the Slytherins. 

“Something to do with snakes.” Sirius says as they sit down, all looking a bit nervous to be missing class, but definitely not nervous enough to discuss their feelings with each other. The three of them work apart at first, every once in a while suggesting ideas.

“We could let something loose..” Remus says after a while. The rest of them have assorted books open in front of them, while Remus has been sitting with his head in his hands and a piece of parchment in front of him, thinking hard and jotting down the occasional idea. His friends look up at this, finding the simplicity quite alluring. Sirius had been reading about magic more advanced than he would ever be capable of, and is brought back to earth at Remus’s simple, yet genius, idea.

“Bees!” James exclaims.

“Fire ants!” Pete offers, looking thrilled.

“Spiders.” Remus declares.

“ _ Snakes,  _ gentlemen, it has to be snakes. Slytherins love anything to do with them but I want to see their faces when there’s slithery, slimy, nasty snakes everywhere.” Sirius shivers with excitement. 

“That’s the issue.” Remus mumbles, looking serious and studious. “We can’t just find some snakes to let loose, like we can with spiders.

“Or bees.” James puts in.

“Or bees. Can we, I dunno, conjure snakes? Or is there some transfiguration… this is just all too hard, that’s the problem.” Remus groans in frustration, obviously coming up on an idea, but not knowing how to execute it. 

“What are you thinking of?” Sirius asks.

“Well, I have no idea how to do it, but we could probably do something with water.” In his quiet but somehow powerful way, Remus has attracted perfect attention from all of them. “We could turn water into snakes. So when they turn the taps on, showers, even toilets, I guess, there would be snakes everywhere. Lots of snakes.” 

“Lots of snakes are perfect.” Sirius says, buttering him up. Remus looks discouraged, though, and sighs loudly. “You’re good at transfiguration, Remus.” He continues, but Remus shakes his head.

“I can turn a teacup into a mouse. I can’t rig the water all over Slytherin’s dorm to turn into snakes. Do any of you know any older kids?” They all quietly think to themselves again. They get on quite well with Frank Longbottom, a fifth year prefect, but it’s obvious he’ll be of no help, being a prefect and all. The only one of them with outside connections is James from being on the Quidditch team. Sirius turns to him with a wide grin.

“James, my bestest friend in the whole wide world, you know some older students, right?” James twists his face up, looking nervous.

“Yeah…”

“Well, can you get their help?” James sighs, still looking nervous, as though hunted. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Er...” He looks around the library, until he lays eyes on an older Hufflepuff. James approaches the older boy quickly, and asks him if he knows what class the fifth, or sixth years, would be having right now. The boy thinks back, clearly a seventh year, and tells James whatever he wants to hear. James returns looking a little more clear headed. “I know two fifth years, but they’re in muggle studies right now, and a sixth year in herbology.” 

“Who’s friendlier?” Sirius asks, straight to the point, and James replies immediately.

“The fifth years.” So James is sent back across the library to the Hufflepuff boy and embarrassingly asks him where the muggle studies classroom is. The guy is nice enough, and like any typical Hufflepuff, introduces himself to James as Archie Asche. 

“What are you up to, anyways?” He asks. This leads James to bringing Archie Asche over to the rest of their group, where they look up at him in a weary sort of fear, wondering if he’s going to get them in trouble. “Transfiguration help?” Archie asks Sirius, who nods gratefully. 

“We’re trying to turn water into snakes.” He confesses, and Archie sits down at their table, looking much taller and older than the rest of them. Archie doesn’t ask why they’re doing what they’re doing, and he’s very patient, explaining the incantations to Sirius, even though Remus is the one taking down notes. After about ten minutes of explaining and answering questions, Archie takes Remus and Sirius to the bathroom with him to finally put their words into practical use, while James and Peter stay behind to attempt to orchestrate how Sirius is meant to jinx all the water producing fixtures within the Slytherin dormitories.

Archie is tall, blonde, and handsome. Sirius can’t wait to grow up and be anything but a first year, he thinks of himself as mature for his age, and finds himself jealous of Archie as they enter the bathroom. A fifth year Slytherin is perched up by the window, greedily smoking a cigarette as though he doesn’t have a class to be in. The Slytherin pales when he sees Archie and throws the cigarette butt out the window before scrambling past them and out the door without another word. Sirius looks impressed while Archie just smiles. He walks over to the sink and waits until Remus and Sirius have a clear view of what he’s doing.

“Okay.” Archie says, thinking about how to go about this. “So essentially, breaking it down, we’re just combining the snake summoning spell and the… fountain of wine spell.” 

“McGonagall teach you that one?” Sirius jokes, and Archie smiles toothily.

“Some things you just have to teach yourself.”

“Maybe you should just teach us the wine one.” Sirius offers, but Archie shakes his blonde head. 

“So we’re thinking, vinumenti and serpensortia. Hm.” Archie first casts the fountain of wine spell, which causes dark reddish purple liquid to pour out of his wand. Sirius half feels like conjuring a goblet to fill, but steels himself as he watches the wine pour down the sink. Archie concentrates and turns the spell on the sink, muttering something else, and making wine come out of the tap. Well, it’s a start. 

“Serpenmenti.” Archie says in a full, confident voice, and the wine turns into tiny, baby snakes. 

“Wow!” Gasps Remus, obviously impressed by the spell. 

“Finite.” Archie commands, and the snakes generally become less and less until only one falls out of the tap, water pouring in their place. “Brilliant, okay. I can’t believe that worked. You lads want to try?” Sirius lets Remus go first because he’s not too confident about his transfiguration abilities, and watches Remus struggle with the spell, obviously putting a good amount of effort into it. 

“Ugh.” Remus has made a few snakes drop out of the sink, but nowhere near the amount that Archie had. 

“Think about it really hard, Remus, concentrate. Think about loads of snakes pouring out of the tap like water, keep it really detailed.” Archie encourages. Remus screws up his face, making him look younger and cuter than ever, and casts the spell again.

“Serpen _ menti _ !” He utters, gesturing at the sink and looking shocked as snakes come pouring out of the drain. Sirius claps his hands together in delight and sees Remus start to grin, looking awed with his own work.

“Well done, Remus! Bloody brilliant job.” Archie compliments, patting a thrilled looking Remus on the back. “Alright, Sirius, want to give it a go?” Of course Sirius wants to give it a go, but it takes him ten minutes longer than it had taken Remus to get it right. Still, Archie patiently encourages Sirius, and the three of them watch as a few snakes turn into hundreds, and Sirius feels giddy with relief when he finally can cast a successful spell. Class is over for the day by the time they’re done, and the three boys exit the loo, headed back towards the library to reconvene with James and Peter. 

“Thanks, Archie, I really appreciate this.” Sirius says genuinely.

“Of course, I’m always happy to help out. I’m not gonna ask what this is for, but I wish you luck with it.” Archie replies kindly, and bids them farewell before gathering up his books and leaving the library. Remus and Sirius watch their golden haired savior leave before rushing back to their friends, dragging them back up to the Gryffindor tower. The four of them lock themselves in the tiny bathroom that would comfortably fit two people to show off their new skills. 

James and Peter are doubly impressed, and share their own plan with Sirius. The boys practice the spell for the rest of the day (and night) but keep it to themselves. Remus doesn’t even tell Marlene about it over dinner, even though he’s becoming rather close friends with her. Their prank is a secret, and will stay a secret until after it’s over, and they get to see if they’ve achieved anything of worth. Saturday can’t come fast enough for the boys.

**j**

James wakes up early on Saturday, not for Quidditch practice or exercising, it’s because Sirius is up before him. Which never happens. 

Sirius had pushed open James’s curtains and thrown himself melodramatically across the foot of James’s bed and then proceeded to tickle James’s feet under the covers, which wakes him up almost right away.

“What- what are you doing?” James splutters, drawing his feet back underneath him, feeling a bit of shock at the sudden wakeup.

“I’m so  _ excited _ .” Sirius whispers, a glowing smile on his young face. Any normal person would have used a word like “nervous” instead of excited but James is excited too, a little, at least. “This is going to be a great day.” Sirius smiles down at James. “Come on, get up, let’s get it started!” Sirius draws James’s curtains back and stretches hugely, his back cracking all the way down, and then turns back to James with that childlike excitement on his face. “Alright, I hear you banging your head on the floor every morning, but I have no clue what you’re up to. Enlighten me?” 

James sits down on the floor next to Sirius and explains the familiar concept of a sit up to him. It’s a stupid, unproductive, workout that just ends in James and Sirius wrestling on the bedroom floor, filled with pent up energy and excitement. They wake up Remus, always a light sleeper, who grins at them from the warm comfort of his bed. 

“Either of you fancy a few laps around the pitch?” James asks, eager to get out of the castle. Remus looks hesitant but Sirius convinces him to come, not wanting him to miss out on their fun. James even wakes up Pete, not wanting to leave him out, and the four of them head down to the Quidditch pitch in the crisp, early morning air. 

Sirius and James fly fast, their faces reddening with the cold air, breaths fogging up slightly. There’s no feeling that James loves more than tearing around on his broom at the highest speeds possible, and he makes loops around the hoops, laughing and whooping, almost buzzing with energy. Sirius and him race hard and fast, and James pulls out of their competition to fly upwards, spiraling towards the clouds, feeling euphoric. The sky is a bright blue, dotted with puffy clouds, and James is the happiest he’s ever been; out on the pitch with his best friends. 

The four of them are a sight to see after landing. Peter is wearing one of Remus’s shapeless muggle jumper that dwarfs his small form, and his ill fitting Quidditch trousers. Sirius is half in his pajamas, wearing a t-shirt under his robes, which makes for an odd look. James wears his full Quidditch robes, since he flies best in them and might as well practice later anyways. Remus wears an orange wooly looking jumper under a grey zip hoodie that looks like half of a tracksuit that the boy would never wear. 

The ridiculous looking troupe of them arrive in the Great Hall for breakfast and are laughed at goodnaturedly by Lily and Marlene. James, Remus, and Peter linger with the girls after eating, but Sirius returns to the dorm room to change into more respectable clothes for his visit to the Slytherin dungeons. 

James is finding it difficult to keep his mouth shut about the whole prank situation, and leaves his friends to go find Sirius, needing to wish him luck before the prank goes down. He finds his long haired friend practicing the snake charm in the loo, turning the shower on and off to make sure that it’s really working.

“Sirius?” James asks, surprising his friend, who jumps and nearly slips on the tile of the shower. 

“Blimey, James, don’t sneak up on me like that.” Sirius clutches his chest in mock alarm, but returns to his usual easy grin quickly. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to wish you luck.” James looks at the little snakes worming their way into the drains, wondering if they’ll clog up the pipes. Sirius shakes his mane of hair back and continues grinning. That Sirius Black grin.

“I don’t need luck. I’ll be perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone has any feedback feel free to comment! would love to hear what yall think of this so far :-)


	7. [YR 1] Vinyl Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted a lil marauder’s dance party in the dorm room, is that so much to ask for? just imagine 11 y/o remus & sirius dancing to the beach boys… oh wait u don’t have do bc i wrote it for you. enjoy this chapter i love it so much 
> 
> lyric from "miss delaney" by jack's mannequin

_ [he] likes the beach boys more than radio metal  _

**r**

Remus, James, and Pete have all excused themselves from sitting anxiously in the common room to sit anxiously in their dorm room. The girls had been trying to figure out their strange behavior all afternoon, and James looked dangerously close to spilling their secret, so Remus had hauled them all upstairs to worry up there. 

“I’ve never pulled a prank like this before.” James is sitting on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I’ve never pulled a prank  _ ever _ .” Peter puts in.

“Technically, none of  _ us _ are pulling this prank.” Remus, the voice of reason, explains truthfully. That gets them to quiet a little bit, but James isn’t good at sitting still with something to think about, and offers to put on a record. The full moon is coming up and Remus is finding it hard to harness his patience, so he continues writing his Transfiguration essay, which is due on Tuesday. 

James and Peter sit on the floor to play a game of cards and they’re all peaceful for a while. Sirius always seems to bring chaos with him, and though Remus loves him, it’s a very calm feeling to spend an afternoon without him. Besides, their bubble of serenity is popped promptly, when Peter hears loud footsteps up the stairs headed towards their room. Abandoning the card game, Peter and James rush to the door, which Sirius throws open with such might that he hits them both.

“Ow!”

“Oi!”

“Sorry!” Sirius gasps, covering his face with his hands. He’s breathless and red faced, but his eyes gleam wickedly and his friends forget about the momentary pain when they remember what they’re excited for in the first place.

“So how did it go?” Peter demands as Sirius strolls into the dormitory, grinning blithely at Remus, who gives him a weak smile back. Although Remus had come up with the prank and works the spell more seamlessly than Sirius, he’s completely not keen on getting caught, especially since he’s absolutely incapable of serving detention on Wednesday night, which is when the full moon takes place.

“Went off without a hitch.” Sirius says proudly. “I cannot wait to hear all about it at dinner, wow, Remus, I don’t know how we can top this.” 

“Top this?” Remus looks up from his essay, distracted.

“Of course! Halloween is coming up, we’ll need to pull a prank then. And my  _ birthday _ .” Sirius wiggles his eyebrows and doesn’t seem to take note at the panic on all his friends’ faces. 

“Er… remind us when it is, mate?” James asks apologetically. Remus has an inkling of when their birthdays are, but has no idea about the specific dates. Sirius doesn’t take offense, though, and tells them.

“November third, mark your calendars! I trust you boys will treat me to a celebration.” Sirius says casually, and James raises his eyebrows at Remus, who just shrugs at him. James makes Sirius sit down and recall the entire story of what happened in the Slytherin dungeons from start to finish. Remus is in a progressively worsening mood and only half listens to Sirius’s dramatics, trying to get his essay finished so he can catch up on any other work before the moon. Sirius is an amazing storyteller and Remus finds himself writing words on the parchment without even reading them, instead tuning in to Sirius’s story.

He listens to the description of the Slytherin common room- green, mostly. Apparently, it’s half under the lake and there’s eerie green light that floats down into the low, dark room that is decorated in dark furniture ("like goth stuff, I’m sure Bellatrix will nick half of it to take home") and glitters with silvery decorations. Sirius’s words lend to his imagination and Remus abandons his nearly completed essay for a sheet of blank parchment, starting to draw on it with a new kind of fervor.

He’s not the artistic type but Sirius’s storytelling has inspired him, and he draws an awful sketch of the common room in the dungeons, dark and nasty, with glowing crystal balls, hard furniture, and dark draperies. Remus colors hoards of little baby snakes onto the paper, enjoying making their little faces, adding little spiky tongues onto them. James has put on some more music, a band called Yes that sounds remarkably like the Beatles, and the three boys chat happily together as the sun sets and Remus works on his drawing, content to be left out of their discussion, for once. 

Dinner is looming and the anticipation in the dormitory seems to build again, all of them excited to see the reactions of the Slytherins when they go down to the Great Hall. Sirius gets up, going to use the bathroom, but swoops by Remus’s bed as he walks across the room.

“What are you up to, Remus?” He asks conversationally. The rest of them seem to have picked up on Remus’s irritable mood and for the most part have left him alone, but Sirius has a different relationship with social cues. “Oooh, it’s me!” Sirius snatches the parchment out from under Remus’s quill and holds it up for better examination. “How cute!” Yes, admittedly, Remus had drawn a little Sirius Black on one of the black couches in the imaginary common room. It’s only to fit the scene, but Sirius seems to find it charming, and beams at Remus as he hands the paper back to him.

“Thanks.” Remus mumbles, feeling his face flush with heat.

“You’re drawing Sirius?” James asks from the floor. 

“No. Well yes, I mean, he’s just part of the drawing.” Remus responds, making a mental note to never, ever, attempt art again. He puts the parchment back underneath his essay, which is now getting to be a few feet long. Sirius has shut himself in the bathroom and Remus glances out the window, seeing that the sun has set. He feels hot and tense, the way he gets before full moons, and stretches dramatically, rather worried about dinnertime. 

“Have you finished the essay, Remus?” Peter asks, obviously looking for an opportunity to copy off him.

“Almost.” Remus doesn’t elaborate, trying to avoid Peter’s hopeful gaze. James is cleaning up the cards splayed on the floor and ties them back into their deck. “How do you think the Slytherins will react?” Remus asks, combing through his messy hair with his hands. A loud shriek comes from the bathroom and the three of them jump in unison, spinning and staring at the door, wondering what had happened to Sirius.

“Bloody hell!” Comes his high voice, laughing with shock. “The spell hasn’t worn off the sink, blimey, these snakes aren’t going anywhere.”

“Maybe something like that?” James offers.

**s**

Sirius is happy to see a large number of Slytherins looking rather shaken at dinnertime, but manages to keep his mouth shut throughout the meal. He’s quite proud of himself for achieving what he had, and is even more pleased to hear whispers and rumors circulating the Great Hall, stuff about snakes and sinks and Slytherin, and Sirius feels all puffed up with pride. James and Peter have resolved to keep their quiet as well, probably due to Remus’s threats, which Sirius doesn’t understand.

Most of the time, Remus is friendly and kind. He shares his notes and homework, helps in class, plays games with poor, lonely Peter, spins his cool records, and sometimes plays Quidditch when invited despite his apparent vertigo, but some days, like today, he’s just cold and distant. His little drawing of the Slytherin common room and Sirius had touched Sirius. Remus had hidden it after Sirius had made a big deal of it, which had obviously been a mistake, and now Remus sits next to Marlene and sulks for most of dinner. Even when the puddings appear for dessert, he eats with a troubled expression on his face, and declines Peter’s offer of chess when they return to the common room after dinner.

Sirius, then, is left to play with Peter. Chess has always been a bit dry for Sirius, who has issues focussing for too long, and after their game passes the twenty minute mark, he begs Mary to take his place in the losing battle against Peter. Remus had been sitting on a window bench, quietly reading a book, attracting no attention to himself, but Sirius is worried and selfish, wanting to know what’s wrong with his friend so they can address the problem and move forward without any of the awkward sullenness.

“Alright, Remus?” Sirius asks as he approaches his friend. Remus looks up slowly and without much humor in his eyes. He looks much older there, in the dim light of the corner, hair falling in his face and a dark cloud sort of hanging over him.

“I’ve got a splitting headache.” Remus explains, closing his book, glancing around the crowded common room. “I think I’ll go upstairs, try to get some peace.”

“I’ll come.” Sirius offers, feeling both offended and delighted at the sour expression on his friend’s face. Remus holds up his red bound book, like an excuse or a shield.

“Trying to finish this.” Sirius pouts and puts on his best pleading expression.

“Entertain me, hm? It’s a Saturday night, and you and I pulled off an excellent prank! We should celebrate! I can try that wine making spell…” Sirius grins cheekily, but he still can’t seem to get Remus to smile. “Hey, what about that band you wanted to play for James? The Kinks?” This, finally, seems to work, and Remus’s face lightens a bit.

“Oh… right, yeah. There’s a band I want to show you, too, actually. I think you’ll love them.” Nothing gets Remus back into a regular mood like discussing music.

“Want to show me now?” Sirius continues, finding joy in seeing the tension slip from Remus’s face. 

“Sure, okay. Go on then.” Remus gets up and hops off the window bench, cracking his joints. Curfew is approaching and the girls had gone to bed, Mary having swapped places with James, who still seems to be losing to Peter, despite him having faced three different opponents. There are a group of seventh years hogging the couch by the fire, talking loudly and smoking cigarettes, though they might be spliffs. None of them are mean, or have done anything to cement their behavior as bad people, but Sirius finds himself both terrified of them and wanting to be them at the same time, sort of like Archie Asche. He can’t wait to grow up.

With Peter and James in tow, the boys climb the stairs back up to their dormitory, where Remus shuffles through his cardboard box full of records with a carelessness that makes James wince.

“Right, James, you’d like the Kinks.” Remus says, his attitude having shifted monumentally from a few minutes earlier. “And Sirius, I have a special surprise for you.” This sounds fine to Sirius, who sits down by James’s record player, where Remus settles himself a moment later. The first record Remus displays is orange and brown, with a picture of four muggles in suit jackets and the word “KINKS” in big letters on it. Remus flips the record to its B side and starts it playing, sitting back, contented. 

A sharp and annoying harmonica fills the room and Sirius wonders why Remus would want to listen to this with a headache, but braves it. The four of them sit in a circle around James’s record player, mystified by Remus’s muggle music. The song fades out at one point and Sirius finds himself skeptical, preferring the Beatles over this. Then, the pace changes when the singer shouts “All right boys, let’s roll!” Raucous layers of guitar, screaming harmonica, and fast drums in the background pick up to make the song wildly energetic, and the rough, unintelligible vocals add a mysterious air to it. James looks ecstatic and taps his foot wildly, obviously wanting to get up and dance. The next song is more familiar, a tune called Long Tall Sally, and at this one, James can’t resist getting up. 

Remus mouths along to the song, silently singing “we’re having some fun tonight” as James dances over to Sirius and Remus, dragging them up using one hand each. The singer screams as a harmonica solo wails into the song and Sirius grabs Peter, jiving back and forth with him, loving the groove of the music. He doesn’t even think about how ridiculous they must look, the four young boys boogying around their dormitory. 

“Okay, okay.” Remus says when the song finishes. He squats down next to the record player and moves the needle farther back, hesitating over different spots, trying to find a certain song. “This one is my favorite.” The boys listen to the ending of a song, some fading harmonica, before Remus’s pick starts up. 

There’s a gritty guitar riff followed by a fast drum beat. There’s no harmonica in this one and the boys nod their heads together. Layered vocals lead into a jumpy chorus and Remus shakes his head, singing “all day and all of the night!” with the music, like he’s at a show. Sirius likes the song lots, and picks up on the easy lyrics, jumping around with Remus. There’s a messy guitar solo in the middle and Remus continues singing off key- “I believe that you and me last forever”- Sirius grabs his hands and bounces across the room with him, watching Remus bang his head like a punk as the song ends. 

“Wow, Remus, I love that one!” James exclaims cheerily. They’re all out of breath as the next song starts, but Remus takes the record off the player and catches his breath while looking for another disc among his collection. “Next one is for Sirius.” He pants, clearing his throat. “Aha.” The record he whips out has a lush green cover, depicting jungle plants and the words “Smiley Smile” written in bubble letters. Like before, Remus disregards side A of the record and flips it upside down, turning the volume up and searching for just the right spot to place the needle. 

The song starts off with some weird organ and a voice singing in a high pitched way. Sirius is standing in the middle of their dormitory floor, listening closely, wondering why Remus has attributed this special song to him. The song starts off slow but Remus’s face has a wide smile on it as it picks up and suddenly Sirius is  _ obsessed.  _

“ _ These  _ are Americans, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. They’re from California.” Sirius has only heard very faraway tales about California and imagines a sandy beach, palm trees, and pretty blonde girls with long legs who wear red shirts and blue shorts. The song is fascinating to him, with many voices singing about good vibrations, and they dance around to it just as well, lacking some of the rock and roll of the Kinks but introducing a psychedelic aspect that James likes, since it brings him back to the Beatles, who are always his favorite. 

“What do they call this type of music?” Peter asks, looking at the cover of the record.

“Surf rock.” Remus says as the song slows down. A low, smooth bass line fills the room and Sirius watches his friend sway to the music. “Here, I’ve got a classic American one.” Remus can’t seem to stay put on one record and puts on another Beach Boys one, where they listen to a tune called Surfin’ U.S.A that James is instantly obsessed with. It seems that Sirius has taken more to the Kinks, while James can’t get enough of the American summery songs. They spend the rest of the night in a tricked out sort of bliss, listening to the Beach Boys sing about Southern California, an alien territory to them, and dancing, of course. 

They never stop dancing.

**j**

After the dance party in their dorm, James had been convinced that Remus had been fixed. Sirius hadn’t been the only one noticing their friend’s odd behavior, but by Wednesday, Remus is snapping at his friends left and right, apparently in a downright dreadful mood. Wednesdays are everyone’s favorite, since their entire friend group spends hours hanging out in the common room before late night Astronomy, but Remus complains of feeling awfully sick and leaves to go to the hospital wing after a miserable experience at dinner, denying any efforts made by his friends to accompany him down.

It feels lonesome without him, since he is an integral part of their group, and James worries if there’s something truly wrong with Remus, as though he might be diseased, or there’s major problems going on in his life that none of the friends know about. James feels bad that Remus has chosen not to confide in him, or for that matter, anyone. 

Sirius and Peter are busy working on a prank for Halloween. They’re researching smokescreen and fog spells, planning on fogging up the entire school, at least, to the best of their abilities. Unfortunately, Remus is an essential part of prank planning, and Sirius and Peter can talk themselves up but when it comes to the practical part of their pranks, Remus is the one who can give them the names of the spells. The night wears on, and with prank planning growing old without Remus, James tells the rest of their group that he’s going to the hospital wing to see if Remus would join them for Astronomy. 

Lily, Marlene, Mary, Peter, and Sirius are left in their now familiar corner of the common room, a place that they’ve grown to call their own. The girls sit on cushions while the boys work over a low table, close to the floor that they’ve sat on. James waves them a farewell before climbing out of the portrait hole and heading down to the hospital wing, whistling a Beach Boys song as he walks. It’s an hour after curfew, but James technically has an excuse to be out and about. He’s not scared of the dark, or being alone in the halls, honestly- James isn’t really scared of much. Dying, maybe. Or his parents dying. His friends. Death, in general, is a bit of a grim topic which James doesn’t dwell on often, and it’s suited him just fine so far. He’s glad that no one he knows personally has died yet, and hopes that they won’t anytime soon.

He’s only been to the hospital wing once before, and doesn’t enjoy it very much. The air is cold, and the atmosphere is much too quiet. James automatically feels out of place as soon as he steps in, and Madam Pomfery steps out of her office when she sees the door open, letting warm yellow light from the hall into the cool dark air of the informary.

“Hello there.” She says, approaching James, who backs away nervously, wondering if he shouldn’t have come at all.

“Hiya. Er, my friend Remus came down here earlier, we have Astronomy class in a little bit and I was just checking if he was feeling any better.” 

“What’s your name?” Madam Pomfery asks him, and James wonders if she’s going to get him in trouble or something.

“James. James Potter.” 

“Well Mr. Potter, it’s very kind of you to be checking in on your friend. He had a bad migraine and went for a lie down, so he’ll be missing Astronomy, but he’ll be fine tomorrow. Just needed some peace and quiet.” She says gently, and James understands, but still feels bad, wishing there was some way he could help. James hates to feel powerless. 

“Ah, okay.” James glances at the beds in the wing and sees one further down the row with curtains drawn around it. He assumes that Remus is asleep, happy to escape the discord of his friends. “Well, goodnight then. Sorry to bother you.”

“Goodnight, James.” Pomfery says kindly. James leaves the hospital wing feeling bad for Remus but also feeling guilty, and having noted his friend's negative attitude over the past few days, feels even worse when he realizes that his own personality and actions have played a role in Remus spending his night alone in the dark of the hospital wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remus's fave kinks song is "all day and all of the night" which is an absolute jam. highly recommend  
> they also jam to "good vibrations" by the beach boys


	8. [YR 1] Living in a Simulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> believe it or not, this lyric is from the song "it's not living if it's not with you" by the 1975

_ it’s not living if it’s not with you _

**r**

October’s full moon is even worse than September’s. Remus wakes up the next day in the hospital wing with no recollection of how he got back to the school. He feels sore and everything hurts when he tries to move. Madam Pomfrey gives him a draught to help with the pain and heals his cuts and bites. She makes him spend the morning sleeping in the hospital wing, but he assures her that he’s okay for potions class in the afternoon, and she reluctantly lets him leave.

Admittedly, Remus probably should have stayed in the infirmary a little longer. He had torn his legs to shreds the previous night and though the cuts have been magically healed, Remus still finds himself limping, favoring his left leg. Before the transformation had come, he had sat alone in the shack, thinking about his friends and their obvious suspicions. Remus tries to keep it together when the full moon gets closer, but he finds it hard to keep his temper in check when he’s forced to lie to his caring friends. Pomfrey had told Remus about James asking after him the previous night, and Remus had been filled with a hot, uncomfortable guilt.

That guilt comes back stronger than ever as he arrives in potions and sits next to Lily, who greets him normally and thankfully doesn’t ask about his disappearance. Remus is glad to have a distraction from the rest of his friends, who he can feel watching him, and throws himself into the potions work with a feverish type of energy that impresses Lily. Her and Severus have been spending more time together as of late, and Remus is happy to spend the class with her, having someone sensible to talk to instead of his three lovable but crazy friends. 

Nevertheless, once class is over, Remus is approached by the rest of them while Lily leaves with Severus.

“Hi Remus.” Sirius says as he watches Remus scrub at his cauldron intensely, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Hiya.” Remus replies shortly, trying to clear the muck out of the bottom of his cauldron. He’s not the best at potions, but does usually put his best effort in. There had been a mystifying case of doing everything right, but his potions still coming out a little wrong, and Remus assumes that it has something to do with the built up leftovers on the bottom of his cauldron, which he has now taken the time to clean as an excuse not to talk to anyone. Now, this isn’t just his moodiness, it’s his inability to lie to the faces of people he trusts.

“Need help?” James asks, leaning over Remus’s cauldron.

“No, thanks. This crap at the bottom has been mucking up my potions… I’m sure there’s a cleaning charm but I’ve got no idea what it is, and it's too bad Lily’s left, she’d probably know it. Anyways, did you figure out that silencing charm, Sirius? I forgot to ask, I knew you two were working on it…” Remus trails off and looks up at the baffled faces of his three friends.

Sirius doesn’t even need words to get his point across. His shoulders are back and he holds his hands out to the side in a familiar gesture.

“What?” Remus asks.

“Remus, I’ve got no clue what you’re rambling about, but we need your help.” It’s as easy as that and Remus relaxes immediately, realizing that they’re not going to discuss yesterday with him, and have other things on their minds. “Halloween is on Sunday!” Sirius adds and Remus shakes himself out of his momentary paralysis before following his friends up to the library, trying to keep the limp out of his step. James has Quidditch practice, their first match of the season is next week and he’s practicing harder than ever, and wishes them good luck. The three of them left sit down at their usual table as Sirius and Peter share their plans with Remus, who listens intently.

“So, basically, you’re just trying to fog up the whole castle?” He asks once the boys finish their explanation. 

“Mist.” Peter says, as though Remus has missed something essential. “Like, we want it to be spooky.” 

“Super spooky.” Sirius adds. “But not mist, like fog. We want it thick.”

“I’m not really sure what the difference is.” Remus is wracking his brain for smokescreen spells, and finds himself confident that he can lend a real hand in this prank, without poor Archie Asche wasting his time having to teach them. “Blimey, if this were a muggle school, you could just use a haze machine.” It’s a good thing that James isn’t there to hear about a new, fascinating muggle invention, and Remus is let off with quickly telling his friends how it works without being forced into describing every last boring detail of a haze machine.

“Okay, well this is easy.” Remus continues offhandedly, not noticing the look of shock on his friend’s faces. They’re all intelligent, but in their own ways. Remus has a strong memory since he spends a grand majority of his time reading, and remembers things that he truthfully doesn’t need to know. Today, he’s lucky to remember a few spells that will come in handy for their prank. Peter is good at herbology and has already started reading about divination, though they don’t start learning it until third year. James is best at transfiguration, and comes top of their class at it.

Sirius, well. Sirius is a jack of all trades. It’s clear that his knowledge of astronomy is greater than most other students, but he hardly studies- not only for astronomy, but for anything. He had written the blasted transfiguration essay in a few hours, sitting down the night before it was due and cranking out page after page of intelligent thought that had amazed the other boys. When it comes to common sense and knowing when to stop, Sirius isn’t the best, but he’s so confident that sometimes Remus feels jealous of him.

Not that often, though.

“There’s two spells you can do. Nebulus is easy, it’s just a simple fog charm, and then there’s the smokescreen one, which is a bit trickier.” 

“Not you, Remus,  _ we _ .” Sirius says in a powerful voice and Remus looks up at him, momentarily distracted.

“Right. We.”

“So what’s the difference?” Peter asks loudly. 

“Well, the smokescreen one is more for dueling. The smoke is supposed to be a deep red, it sounds rather creepy, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Remus thinks about trying out the spells in the library, but decides against it. Him and the young librarian, Madam Pince, are on generally good terms and he doesn’t want to ruin her trust by fogging up the entire library.

“I suppose we can mix them.” Sirius looks thoughtful. “Just cast both.”

“Yeah we can practice them later. But how are you going to get it all over the school?” Remus asks, evidently having missed the planning session that had taken place the previous night in the common room. 

“Ah, we haven’t perfected that bit.” Sirius says hesitantly, giving Peter a sideways look.

“James wants to wake up way early and run over the whole school, casting the charms all over.” Peter says, getting a confused look from Remus.

“How are we supposed to get back to our dorm if we can’t see anything?” This had clearly not been the thought process that Sirius had taken, and the black haired boy looks a bit puzzled, obviously not coming to the same conclusion as Remus.

“Well, I just didn’t want to wake up early.” Remus laughs, stretching the scars on his face, and sits back in his chair. He had been unfairly dreading having to spend time with his friends today, worried that they would pester him about his illness, but instead he finds himself having a grand time while planning out another prank. 

“I suppose we can work our way backwards. We’ll have to be up early,” this earns him an upset glance from Sirius, “but we can start at the farthest parts of the castle and just work our way back to the Gryffindor tower, doing that last.”

“Are we charming the tower?” Peter asks. Remus thinks about this, drumming his fingers on the table.

“No, that wouldn’t make sense. If none of the other common rooms are charmed, we can’t be doing our own.” Peter and Sirius nod in agreement. There’s a moment of silence, heavy between them for a moment, before Remus is reminded of how close Halloween is, and how soon Sirius’s birthday is, after that. “I’ve got to go up to the owlery.” Remus says quickly, folding up the map of the school they had been examining. He had been writing to his parents all week, trying to get them to buy him a record with his own pocket money, as a present for Sirius. He’s been thinking about getting him a live album, and wishes that the Kinks has one out. 

Remus had spent his morning in the hospital distracting himself with thoughts of music. He had written out two lists, one of bands that he knew Sirius would or does enjoy, and one of bands with live albums out. Through letters, his father had tried to provide some advice on the subject but Remus had wanted this to be his own idea, and had finally thought of a record that he hoped would be as shocking and mind blowing as it had been for Remus as it will hopefully be for Sirius.

**s**

James is up well before sunrise on the morning of October 31st, 1971, but he still lets Sirius lie in until even Peter is about ready to go. By the time they’re all dressed and prepared, it’s about five in the morning, and even James is yawning as they tiptoe down the stairs and into the common room.

“Okay.” Sirius says in little more than a whisper, wiping his tired eyes. “Let’s go over it one last time. Remus in the east, James in the north, Pete in the south, me in the west. Fumos first,  _ then  _ Nebulus. Meet back here by six at the latest.” The rest of the boys nod, gazing around at each other with tired, but excited eyes. 

“Best of luck.” James whispers as they climb out the portrait hole. No one replies to him, they all just look at each other one last time before disappearing down the dark halls with their wands ready. Sirius still stands by his claim that doing this at five in the morning is a bad idea. His eyes burn with tiredness and he’s unsteady on his feet, accidentally bumping into things and nearly getting lost as he trudges through the castle with a map out in front of him.

It had been Remus, in the end, who had used a doubling charm on the map of Hogwarts which Peter had spent so much time copying out of a book onto his own piece of parchment. It’s a detailed and well done map, many thanks to Peter, but Sirius only half glances as it as he wanders to the western wing of the castle. For some reason, he had been the one assigned to the most dangerous location in the castle: the teacher’s dormitories.

No one knows, or cares, very much about where the teachers live. They have their own personal rooms and toilets, but still eat meals in the Great Hall with the students. No one but teachers ever have an excuse to venture to the westernmost point of the tower, so Sirius finds himself in uncharted, but fascinating territory. He takes lighter steps as he gets closer to the edge of the building- looking out a window, he can see the dark blue of the sky before dawn, with the glow of the sun still a few hours away. The hills of Scotland are black in the background and Sirius imagines that this view is rather nice when the sun is out. Well, he’s reached the edge of the tower, and decides that there’s nothing more stopping him from getting the job done.

“Fumos duo.” Sirius says in a quiet voice, swishing and flicking his wand efficiently. They had practiced the spells out the dorm room window the previous night, and Remus had checked in the morning to find it still exceptionally foggy outside, which boosted both his mood and confidence. Sirius watches dark red smoke pour from his wand. It doesn’t have a smell, thankfully, and Sirius waits a few moments as the hazy smoke fills the hallway. Then he goes in with the fog charm, which makes the air thick and soupy, a greyish dark red color that Sirius can hardly see through as he continues through the western wing of the school.

He casts the spells over and over as he walks through the school, leaving a trail of thick, dark fog behind him. Remus’s idea had been a good one, as usual, and it works, with Sirius finding his way back to the Gryffindor portrait hole a good twenty minutes before six o’clock. His clothes are heavy with smoke and he climbs through the hole behind the Fat Lady after he gives her the password, cheered at finding both James and Peter hanging around on the couch, apparently waiting for him.

“Hey, how’d it go for you?” Sirius asks, plopping himself down on the couch next to Peter. Although Sirius has been awake for a good amount of time, it would take less than a minute for him to fall asleep once crashed out on his bed, and he rests his chin in his hands, waiting boredly for Remus to reappear. 

“Went well.” Peter replies sleepily. James just gives him a thumbs up, and Sirius moves from a forwards position to a backwards one, leaning his head back against the couch and looking up at the ceiling, ready to fall back asleep. Six a.m. comes and goes, and while Sirius starts to doze off, James and Peter begin to worry. That’s the issue with them, really, in Sirius’s mind. They all worry too much.

They worry about essays and quizzes, about winning a Quidditch match or being too ill to attend class or getting in trouble for a harmless prank. They worry about tying their ties correctly, waking up on time, and what's for breakfast. They waste so much time caught up in what could go wrong when Sirius only imagines what’s  _ right,  _ because there’s never any need to be negative. Despite his boundless optimism, James can still see the flaws in a plan, point out where something might fall through, but Sirius eliminates the negative in general. He’s heart wrenchingly brave and furiously unafraid; confident to a fault, loyal to an endless degree. He’s eleven years old and falling asleep on the couch next to his best friends. He’s Sirius Black- a Gryffindor amongst many other things but today he’s a friend, and part of a group.

“Lads, we need a name.” Sirius mumbles as he breaks out of his doze, sleepily checking his pocket watch to see that it’s nearly half past six, which is when breakfast starts. Peter doesn’t reply, his mousy face is tight with anxiety, and James is only half listening.

“A name…? Where do you think Remus got off to, then?” James voices his own thoughts instead of entertaining Sirius, who huffs.

“I’m sure he’s just being thorough. And a name for us, as a group, don’t you think?” Neither of his friends are paying him any attention, but Sirius continues regardless. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I can’t come up with anything good enough, but I suppose we  _ should  _ decide together-”

“Oh!” James has exclaimed in a voice heavy with relief as the portrait swings open and Remus Lupin himself appears behind it, grinning broadly. His face is dirty with soot and his hair blown back and spiky, as though something had exploded. “What happened to you?” He demands, bouncing off the couch, wide awake. Remus’s hazel eyes are wide and electrified with excitement. 

“I blew something up.” He says cheekily before starting to laugh. 

“You- you  _ what? _ ” Peter demands, aghast. 

“I had been thinking about this spell for a while, and since we made smoke everywhere, I figured there’s not so much harm in adding some real smoke to the mix.” Remus has a mischievous grin on his young face and Sirius feels proud and jealous of him at the same time.

“You started a  _ fire? _ ” Peter continues, his voice raising into hysterics.

“That wasn’t part of the plan.” James mumbles quietly.

“Let’s go upstairs, eh?” Sirius suggests when he sees a few early risers start stumbling into the common room, headed down to breakfast. Him and the others quickly return to their dormitory so as not to draw attention to themselves, but when Remus shuts the door behind them, the boys dissolve into excited laughter. 

Sirius wishes that there was a foolproof way to gauge the reactions of everyone when they leave for breakfast and find the entire school enveloped in smoke, but will just have to settle for laughing with his friends until they’re crying, doubled over and in high spirits. Knowing that they’ll give themselves away in a heartbeat if they have to go down for breakfast, the boys eat some chocolate frogs that Remus hoards under his bed and share a big bag of crisps that Peter had been sent from home.

James puts on a record and they eat, talk, and laugh, situated around the window so when dawn finally breaks around seven, they can watch the sunrise.

**j**

The first week of November had apparently been scheduled by God to completely wipe out James Potter, who had forgotten to take up Hyatt about his apparently “life saving” schedule. James and the rest of the boys are reeling from their prank on Monday morning, when they still have History of Magic bright and early, despite the heavy, smokey texture of the air. James supposes that the professors had worked some clean air type spells or such to clear out the smoke, and it gets him thinking about solutions to the pollution problem that London seems to be encountering lately.

Sirius’s birthday is on Wednesday, and James’s first Quidditch match is on Saturday. The days in between look like a nervous mess to James, who is still struggling to get his schedule under control. The morning and early afternoon seem to drag by, with History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark arts proving to be rather dull on that particular day, but James is looking forward to flying class, despite the miserable November weather outside.

James wishes that autumn would have been a little more pleasant. He enjoys spending time outside, but October proved itself to be unnecessarily chilly, and curtains of rain have arrived just in time for November. James can only hope that there’s fair weather for their match on Saturday.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts, the Gryffindors meet up with the Ravenclaws to head down to the pitch. James’s friend Katie Robinson had been picked to play chaser for Ravenclaw, which pleases him to no avail.

“We can practice off each other, that’s fantastic!” James says when she tells him about it, and it gets him even more spirited for their flying class. Ever since the first lesson, Madam Hooch had realized that the few students who had been flying since they could walk didn’t necessarily need her instruction, and she generally lets them do whatever they want, as long as no one gets hurt.

James, Katie, and the other Ravenclaw boy, Elliott, always practice against each other, with Sirius usually joining them. He sometimes plays around with Remus and tries to convince his friend to take more interest, which usually never works. Today is much of the same. James is playing keeper while Katie and Elliott try to score on him. The rain is coming down hard but James appreciates it- Quidditch matches always get played, rain or shine. James enjoys himself monumentally, he always tries to, and feels a happy sort of tired when their class comes to an end. His dark Quidditch robes are drenched with rain, and is only somewhat surprised to see both Sirius and Remus absolutely sodden with mud.

“What happened?” James asks Remus as they head into the changing rooms to shower. 

“He grabbed the tail end of my broom.” Remus grumbles, walking gingerly as he tracks mud into the changing rooms.

“Did not!” Sirius protests, bounding up behind them. Peter brings up the rear, soaked and freezing from the rain, obviously looking to get back into the warm castle as fast as he can. Sirius seems to be feeling the same way and jumps into the last free shower, leaving Remus, James, and two other Gryffindor boys standing in their dripping robes, shivering uncomfortably while waiting their turns. 

Peter doesn’t take too long, he’s more thoughtful than Sirius, but an oblivious James is having a serious conversation with Remus about Sirius’s birthday plans, and another boy takes his shower. Due to his chivalry, James is the last person to get in the shower, but he’s sort of glad for it, since he can takes as long as he likes. He stands under the water for a long time, letting the warmth reinvigorate him and the steam clean him. James wonders what it must feel like to be a rug. Vacuumed, steam cleaned, constantly massaged by all the feet walking all over you.

“Remus?” James calls over the pattering of the shower water.

“Yeah?” Remus answers.

“My older cousin told me about this muggle drug that turns you into an inanimate object. Like, mentally. You just think you’re an object. Have you heard of it?” James can hear Remus laugh through the stall.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, really. He said that if you’re sat on a couch and you take it, you feel like you  _ are  _ the couch. I always thought it was crazy.”

“The only muggle drug I’ve heard of is weed.” Remus replies. “When you get high, people call it being stoned. But I always thought getting stoned was having rocks thrown at you, you know? Drugs are weird.” Their conversation is short but fulfilling, and James wraps himself in a towel before he steps out of the shower after another few minutes. Remus has his regular uniform trousers on and is putting on his shirt, which always seems to look rumpled and in need of an ironing. 

James glances at him, then does a double take, then a triple take. Remus’s chest and shoulders are covered in scars and bruises. Thick scars, thin scars, gashes and scrapes and bruises- some are well healed and a faded white against his skin but others are angry and red, and the bruises are in different stages of healing- purple, yellow, green. James can’t help staring at them, knowing that he’s being rude but transfixed, almost, unable to look away.

“...Remus?” James asks.

“Hm?” Remus is focusing on buttoning his shirt, looking down with concentration, his tongue poking out of his mouth.

“Has someone hurt you?” Remus looks up immediately at James, who goggles at him, and then back down at himself, his eyes widening as though he hadn’t been aware that he’s shirtless. His face immediately adopts the color palette of a tomato, and he pulls on his grey jumper without even finishing the buttons on his shirt.

“James, I-I… I don’t, this isn’t, no one’s  _ hurt  _ me.” Remus stammers, backing away from his friend without thought. 

“It certainly looks that way.” Thinking back on it, James realizes that he’s never seen Remus with his sleeves rolled up or in a t-shirt before. He’s always worn his school shirt or a jumper. James had assumed the scars on Remus’s face had been from some childhood accident, but now feels sick thinking about the scars all over his upper body and knows that they have to be related to the ones on his face. Remus turns away from him and rubs his hands over his face. James wishes he could let this go like Sirius would, just forget about it and leave Remus alone, but he’s too concerned. “Remus, you can tell me.”

“No, I can’t.” Remus says in a muffled voice. 

“Why-”

“James, listen.” Remus turns around and his face is cold, serious, wiped of all emotions. Even his unfortunate blush is gone. “I can’t… I can’t lie to you.” James knows more than anything this is true. “But I can’t tell you why I have them, okay? I just can’t.”

“Did- is it your  _ parents? _ ” James demands, ignoring Remus’s claim of not being able to tell him. The horrified expression on Remus’s face tells him enough, anyways.

“My- what? God, no, no, James, it’s not my parents. Please don’t guess… please.” Remus  seems desperate at this point and James sighs heavily, looking at his friend with big brown eyes full of worry. 

“Just tell me you’re safe.” James says, needing something, anything, to get him to leave Remus alone. His friend’s hesitation doesn’t make him feel better and James is about to repeat himself when Remus finally speaks.

“I am.” He won’t meet James’s eyes, though. “I’m safe, I promise.” Unfortunately, James  doesn’t believe him. They return to the castle in silence, and eat a dinner that’s made less awkward by Remus spending the whole meal talking to Marlene, basically ignoring James. The two of them work on homework in the common room after dinner with Mary, while James and Peter plan Sirius’s party, and Sirius helps paint Lily’s nails. Although the rest of them are in good moods, James is tense and worried about Remus. 

He goes to bed early, needing some time to himself, and lays awake in the darkness for a long time, before Sirius sneaks in. James hears him before he sees him and pulls his own curtains back, drags his clumsy friend onto the bed, and casts the silencing charm that Lily had finally taught him around his bed.

“What’s up? I could tell you were worried.” Sirius says as a form of greeting and James relaxes in the company of his best friend. 

“I am.” James mutters, putting his glasses on. His dark haired friend is perched at the edge of his bed, looking oddly serious. “I’m worried about Remus, actually.” Sirius’s eyes widen and he now seems even more interested.

“Why, what’s he done?”

“Well…” James hesitates, thinking about his own morals in his situation, and quickly abandons them. “This is serious, so you can’t tell Peter, or Remus, or Lily or anyone, okay?” 

“Sure.” Sirius says, abandoning all traces of humor that might have been lingering.

“I saw him in the changing room after flying lessons without his shirt on, and he’s got these horrible scars all over his chest and arms, so then I asked him why he had them and if someone had hurt him and he said no, and that he couldn’t tell me why he had them, but that he’s safe, but I don’t believe him because some of them look fresh, and I just feel so  _ worried. _ ” James rushes out, feeling immense and immediate relief as he gets the words off of his chest. Sirius looks unsettled. James swallows, waiting for him to speak. It’s rare that Sirius doesn’t have anything to say, and the tension is killing James.

“Say  _ something,  _ please.”

“Okay.” Sirius replies. He still looks troubled. “A few weeks ago, I was talking to Remus about my family, and how I hated them. And I asked if he hated anyone, truly, and he said yes.” James and Sirius look at each other, their young faces prematurely worried.

“I asked if it was his parents.” James says very quietly. “But he looked so shocked and sounded so upset, and some of the scars do look new, so it couldn’t be them.” Sirius just shakes his head like he doesn’t know, and for once, James understands his speechlessness. “I just wish he would tell us what’s wrong.” 

“It can be hard.” Is all Sirius has to reply with. He looks awfully sad and James feels a rush of bad feelings, like Sirius has something that he hasn’t told him either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random lol but the drug james mentioned in the shower was salvia. reading abt trip experiences is mega interesting


	9. [YR 1] So Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "your song" by mayday parade
> 
> hella long chapter for bby sirius's bday & also my inner quidditch nerd coming out lol

_ they keep singing out a song, i know it’s your song, they’ve been singing all night long _

**r**

Sirius Black’s birthday had been timed perfectly to coincide with Remus’s disastrously awkward encounter with James after flying lessons. The birthday seems to be a welcome distraction for all of them, and Remus wakes up on Wednesday morning feeling excited to enjoy a day that won't involve any attention on himself at all.

James wakes them all up, including Sirius, by singing a loud rendition of happy birthday that puts Sirius into a good (albeit embarrassed) mood, despite having to be up earlier than usual. He even attends breakfast on time, and is clearly surprised by all the birthday wishes he receives. Even Bellatrix passes by their table on their way in and wishes him a happy birthday in a genuine sort of voice, which makes Sirius look both confused and shocked, as though she’s never said a nice thing to him in her life. 

“Are you two on good terms?” James asks once Bellatrix leaves, at the same time that Peter asks- “Did she ever mention the snakes?”

“I suppose, and no.” Sirius responds to both of their questions at once. The snake prank had been much less invasive than the smoke one, but Slytherins had been whispering about it in the following days, filling Sirius and Remus with distinct feelings of pride. The smoke had been a much bigger, much funnier prank, but all of them have resolved to realize that they should have done it on a weekday, so classes would have been cancelled. Still, the eerie fog had definitely put the students into a Halloween mood, and Remus thinks back on the previous weekend fondly.

Remus receives a large square package in the post from his parents that he quickly stashes under the table, glad that all attention is on Sirius, who looks ecstatic at the amount of post that arrives for him. Since Sirius is partial to missing breakfast, his family’s eagle owls had always swooped by during lunchtime, but he gets post delivered with the rest of the students this morning. 

“Blimey, I didn’t think they’d sent presents.” He says as he sorts through letters and packages from his family.

“It’s your birthday, of course they would.” James chides, and Sirius gives him a genuine smile which is less of his cocky grin and more of the expression of a grateful friend.

“Oh, look!” Sirius has opened one of his packages and pulls out a knit cap and matching gloves in the Gryffindor colors. 

“I thought your family was all about Slytherin pride?” Remus asks with a mouth full of cereal. 

“Yeah, they are, but this is from my older cousin Andromeda.” Remus can’t help but laugh at hearing her name, another astronomical body, and Sirius shoots him a joking dirty look. “The family’s frozen her out because she married a muggleborn, but me and her still write. Wow, this is so nice of her.” Sirius had gotten other, more expensive presents from his family, but Remus can tell how much he appreciates the handmade accessories. Remus had been especially interested in the Lunascope sent to him by his parents, which eliminates the need for creating moon charts in Astronomy, and later in Divination, which are one of the most tedious pieces of classwork to ever be assigned.

Despite it being a Sirius-proclaimed national holiday, they still have class. History of Magic is as dull as ever, and Sirius makes up for his lost sleeping time in the morning during class, using his textbook as a pillow. Remus doesn’t know how anyone can just nod off in the middle of class, it takes him a while of lying in the silent and comfortable darkness for him to finally drift off to sleep, but Sirius is snoring by the time class is over, and Remus feels a little guilty for having to wake him up.

They have free periods until lunch time, and instead of studying or planning a new prank, Sirius takes them out for a few laps around the grounds, in a wickedly fair mood. 

“Remus, how would you feel about naming ourselves?” Sirius asks conversationally. It’s quite cold outside. The sharp air bites against Remus’s face and he pulls his robes tighter around him. Everyone enjoys warm weather more, that’s true enough, but Remus doesn’t have the desire to take his jumper off or wear short sleeved shirts anymore, and there’s no reason for anyone to see his scars ever again. He wishes in vain that James would just forget about what he saw, and never bring it up again, but he knows that will never happen. 

Remus knows a few things. He knows that Sirius had crept into James’s bed last night. He knows that despite his own morals, he had rolled in bed over eagerly, finally making the best of his eavesdropping ability, planning on listening to every word that his friends were going to exchange. He also knows that either Sirius or James had finally learned the silencing charm, and Remus had felt a bitter frustration at his inability to understand the muffled voices coming from behind James’s curtains. He had slept badly that night, tossing and turning, thinking about what exactly James had told Sirius. Whatever it had been, no one had mentioned it the next morning, and everything seems deceptively normal.

“I thought we’ve been named already, honestly. Are you getting tired of being Sirius?” Remus asks, and Sirius shakes his head laughingly.

“No, dimwit, us as a group. You’ve got a big vocabulary, any ideas?” Remus glances at James and Peter, who look like they’ve already heard about this naming idea.

“Er... I’ve really got no clue.” Remus says lamely, dejected to be put on the spot without any good ideas to offer. “Do you want something to do with pranks, then? Like… rogues, rascals… pranksters, really, none of these are good.”

“Scoundrels?” Peter offers lamely. Sirius shakes his head. They continue walking, all side by side in a line, hands in their own pockets, hair upset by the harsh breeze except for Sirius’s, which is tucked under his new hat. 

“We need a thesaurus.” Remus sighs. 

“What about something like miscreant?” James says, laughing. “I love that word.”

“We are _ not  _ calling ourselves the miscreants.” Sirius looks tickled at the idea though, and screws his face up in thought.

“Scalawags? Vagabonds? Bootleggers?”

“We’re not pirates, for god’s sakes!” Sirius’s words are honest, but he’s laughing as well now. 

“The villainous, depraved, criminal degenerate marauders of Hogwarts.” James says with finality. Sirius doesn’t laugh at this though, and Remus grows worried.

“That’s a bit too long, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the whole thing is.” Sirius replies quickly. “The marauders, though. That’s not half bad, is it?” The boys all look at each other, their pace slowing. “The marauders.” Sirius repeats, and Remus feels a warmth from the name, a connection.

“I like it.” He’s the first to say. 

“It’s a brilliant name!” James is eager to defend his own idea, and Peter chimes in as well, agreeing that it’s a great idea, and a great name as well. The marauders. It definitely has a ring to it.

**s**

Sirius is having his best birthday ever. At home, he would have been forced to spend the day with his family, pretending to like their misguided gifts and wishing he had some real friends to spend the day with so he could enjoy himself for real. A little brother isn’t the best company for a young boy on his birthday.

But turning twelve is a grand affair for Sirius, who now has his own band of brothers, the  _ marauders,  _ and is even more delighted to find out that they’re learning the basics of dueling in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Their comedian of a teacher, Professor Weaver, has stated that no one is ever too young to start practicing practical defensive magic, and calls up a nervous looking Hufflepuff boy to be one of the first examples. Having Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs has proved to be a little useless, since they’re a peace loving bunch, but Sirius is still excited to see this beginner’s duel take place.

Professor Weaver scans the rest of the class with his tired eyes. The man looks like he’s lost a great deal of sleep throughout his life that he’ll never make back up, but is still cheerful in all of their classes and has proven to be a rather good teacher.

“Mr. Black!” Sirius is startled out of his thoughts by Weaver calling on him, and he stares up in shock. “The birthday boy.” There are some chuckles from the class. “Would you care to help demonstrate?” Sirius doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course, professor!” The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watch as he leaps to his feet and strides to the front of the room, where an area has been cleared for the duel. The other boy has gingery brown hair and a face full of freckles, along with an expression of dread. 

“Alright, Mr. Black, and Mr. Leveret. The first step to a duel is bowing, showing your opponent respect.” Sirius and the Hufflepuff boy, his name might be Ben, look at each other nervously. Sirius bows first and sees Ben follow his lead. They’re a few feet away from each other, face to face, and Weaver instructs them to lift their wands to their faces, which they do. 

“Okay, lower your wands, boys. In real duels, wizards usually have a ‘second’, which, well, which is someone who will take over for them in the off chance that they die.” Ben flinches and Sirius holds back a laugh. “ _ Which  _ neither of you will,” Weaver says quickly, “seeing as this is just a demonstration. Okay. Black, all I’m going to ask is that you disarm Leveret. After, Leveret will disarm Black. Understood?” The boys nod. 

“The disarming charm is ‘Expelliarmus’. Can everyone say that aloud?” The class chants the word back to him, and Sirius whispers it under his breath. “When casting it, the hand movement will be sort of like a swirl, like this.” Weaver demonstrates with his own wand, with Ben and Sirius watching closely. “Ready, Black?” The professor asks, and Sirius nods, steeling himself. Him and Ben face each other once again and Sirius sets his shoulders back proudly, trying to mask his nerves with the usual Black confidence. 

Sirius raises his dark wand in front of him and sees Ben’s drawn face, feet away, looking as though Sirius is about to kill him, rather than disarm.

“Expelliarmus!” Sirius shouts, waving his wand in a spiral motion like Weaver had, and casting a scarlet wave of light across the floor. Ben’s wand is gone from his hand in an instant, clattering across the floor, and Sirius beams with triumph as the class oohs and aahs over witnessing their first duel. Ben gets his go next, and disarms Sirius with the same energy that had been directed at him a few moments prior. It’s quite a rush, standing in the cleared space on the floor, ready to fight, but Sirius and Ben are dismissed with other students taking their turns next. 

The Gryffindors are alight with excitement as they leave class. 

“Yours was brilliant, Lily, you nearly knocked William off his feet!” Mary is saying excitedly. Lily had performed a rather strong spell that had sent a Hufflepuff tripping backwards over himself. 

“Thanks, but yours was so well performed, you even caught her wand!” Lily responds brightly. Mary had impressed the class with snatching her opponent’s wand out of the air after she had disarmed her.

“Weaver’s proving to be a good teacher, in the end.” Remus adds thoughtfully. 

“Well, if the jinx story is true, we won’t have him next year.” Sirius says sadly. Their bright chatter of conversation stops after his words, and Sirius wonders if he’s said something wrong. 

“What jinx?” Lily and Remus ask together, making Remus blush.

“On the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.” Sirius responds, turning to look at his friends. “Tell me one of you has heard of it.” 

“‘Course I’ve heard of it.” James pitches in, with Peter agreeing. “It’s been there since the mid ‘60s, I’ve heard. None of the Defense teachers last longer than a year in the position, for some reason or another.” 

“My older sister had a teacher who was a squib!” Peter says excitedly. “The whole year he had them reading out of the textbook, never did anything practical, and they never saw his wand! They didn’t put the pieces together until the year was almost over, but Dumbledore sure got in trouble for hiring that one.” His story brings the laughter back to the conversation and Sirius relaxes, happy that his birthday falls on a Wednesday, his favorite day of the week.

“What do you reckon we should do now?” Sirius asks, and the chattering, once again, seems to halt because of him. “ _ What?”  _ He asks pointedly, looking at the faces of his silent friends.

“I’ve got Quidditch practice.” James is quick to say, although looking bashful. “Sorry mate, you know we’ll have a jolly good time after dinner…”

“Right, that’s fine.” Sirius responds. “And the rest of you?” Remus, Marlene, and Lily exchange worried looks between themselves. 

“Er…” Remus starts nervously, obviously thinking of a badly disguised lie to tell, but Lily cuts him off.

“Really, Sirius, your birthday surprise wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we told you what we were up to, would it?” Lily Evans has a clean and distinct way of making Sirius regret and rethink all of his decisions, and he plays with his hair as an excuse not to look at her, feeling rather stupid.

“Okay, that’s true. Cheers.” James has left, off for Quidditch, and the other three do too. Sirius is left with Mary and Peter. “Right then, let’s have a game of Gobstones!” Mary and Peter prove to be great company when it’s just the three of them, which cheers Sirius right up. Mary is a gossip which makes her great to chat with, and Peter never stops talking when involved in a conversation with a few people, so they spend the afternoon playing all sorts of games together. They’re some of the first people down for dinner, which they eat quickly. Marlene, Lily, and Remus are still missing, and Sirius is growing rather dejected, hoping they haven’t run into a problem with what they’re doing.

Still, with Lily with them, he’s sure that she’ll get them on the right track. Lily is a very determined and organized girl, somewhat like James in that regard, and Sirius respects her vehemently, and is sometimes a little scared of her. She’s also like James in that respect.

Sirius isn’t scared of many people. If he wanted Mary or Peter to do something for him, he could convince or bully them into doing it in an instant. He doesn’t have second thoughts when dealing with them, or Marlene, or even his brother Regulus. They’re casual people and he doesn’t care what they think of him because he’s so confident that they respect him for it regardless. Sirius cares a great deal what James thinks of him because James is all things good. He’s responsible, a good student as well as a talented athlete, and Sirius finds himself trying to match James on all the things he does well. Lily has an attitude and people listen to her without even thinking about it, so Sirius does that, listens to her without a thought.

Remus is the only one who doesn’t fit in. Sirius isn’t rude to him, but sometimes finds himself being too kind to Remus for no reason at all. The boy keeps to himself and is mysterious when it comes to his own personal life. He’s a bit of a nerd and enjoys his studies, but gets along well with lots of people, like Marlene, for instance. Sometimes it seems like he’s closer to her than any of the marauders, and Sirius has wondered a few times if Remus fancies her. That would complicate things extremely, but Sirius puts this thought to the back of his mind. 

James joins them after his practice, exhausted. His black hair is sweaty and messy, and his red robes are wet with the rain that had been heavy in the clouds that morning, apparently having started to fall during their practice. 

“How was it?” Sirius asks him as James starts eating.

“Good.” He replies with his mouth full. “I’m quite nervous for the match this weekend, apparently Slytherin’s team is excellent this year.” 

“You’ll do great.” Mary says in a warm voice. “It’s your first match, too, there’s always room for mistakes.” James pales.

“Not as a first year.” 

“They won’t boot you off the team if you lose!” Peter interjects faithfully.

“Of course they won’t.” Sirius adds. “They’re lucky to have you.” James smiles tiredly but gratefully at them, and they wait for him to finish eating before slowly but surely returning to the Gryffindor common room. The climb up the dizzying spiral staircases to the top of the tower is always a bit of a hike, and Sirius sighs out the password to the Fat Lady, who winks at him before swinging open to reveal a blast of lights and sounds from the common room.

Confetti rains from the air, balloons soar to the top of the room, and music plays loudly from somewhere. 

“Happy birthday!” Shout Marlene, Lily, and Remus, who look very proud of their decorations. The common room is quite full- a good number of Gryffindor first years are there, along with some second years that Sirius knows through James, and a handful of third years that Sirius had gotten to know through his pranks. There’s the redheaded Prewett twins, handing out bottles of Butterbeer that they got in Hogsmeade, and Edgar Bones, a usually serious faced boy who had helped Remus and Sirius study for potions. 

Sirius grins, not knowing what to say, never having been celebrated like this before. The day had been nice enough already, but he had no idea that they were throwing him a party. James pulls Sirius further into the common room where he’s presented with a great big cake by Lily and Marlene.

“We all wanted to make you a cake, but Lily thought that doing it the muggle way was a nicer gesture.” Marlene says breathlessly. Her wavy blonde hair is plaited down her back, and there seems to be flour splashed over her black robes. 

“It’s made with love.” Lily says proudly. 

“You baked me a cake?!” Sirius is shocked by this gesture. Cooking and baking is intimidating enough to him, but doing it the non magical way seems nearly impossible. Lily’s cheeks redden with pride.

“Of course we did, it’s your birthday!” The cake is well decorated and says “Happy 12th Sirius!!” in sparkling gold letters that glitter with magic. The rest of it is frosted red, for Gryffindor. 

“What flavor did you do?” Sirius is fascinated by muggle baking, and is truly perplexed by how they created it.

“Well it’s a bit of a neapolitan. Remus wanted chocolate.” Lily starts. Sirius knows that his friend is a big fan of chocolate, he keeps stashes under his bed, and smiles at Remus. “But I wanted vanilla, so we thought that would be fine, choccy and vanilla, but Marlene thought strawberry would be a good addition.” Sirius gawks at her.

“It’s a good flavor!” Marlene protests.

“No, I love strawberry, that’s just so… it’s just so much  _ work! _ ” His friends look about as chuffed as Sirius feels, and he feels quite bad when Lily cuts up the cake and starts doling out slices, not wanting to ruin their masterpiece. For a party thrown and orchestrated by first years, it’s not a bad one. Remus has placed himself in charge of the music and plays loud but fun rock that gets people dancing and moving. Sirius makes his rounds of the common room since it’s his own party, but after a while he settles down with his own friends in their corner, cheeks flushed and in high spirits.

Marlene, Lily, and Mary give him gifts, which embarrasses him even further. Sirius feels as though he can’t say enough thank yous for the gratitude he’s experiencing, and even hugs Mary, who looks bright eyed and taken aback at the gesture of affection. Neither Mary nor Lily have tried Butterbeer before and Mary is both shocked and delighted to learn about the very small alcoholic presence in the drink.

“There’s  _ alcohol  _ in this?” She asks, lifting the bottle of golden drink.

“A little bit, yeah. Our house elf got drunk on it once, over New Years.” James laughs, and Mary looks thrilled.

“Better get more!” She squeals as she gets up, pushing her way through the crowd to find herself more. The party goes late into the night until Remus reminds them that despite the festivities, they still have Astronomy class. Still, their moods can’t be darkened by class, and Sirius works diligently for once, completing all his work within the hour and feeling wide awake when they return to their dormitory at a little past one in the morning.

Peter had taken some of the leftover cake upstairs and they sit on the floor by James’s record player and eat it while Sirius plays with the magic sparklers that Marlene had given him. 

“Alright, Sirius, time for our gifts.” James says from the other side of his bed, looking for something on the floor. The marauders had decided to give their gifts to Sirius in private as a more special gesture, and Sirius appreciates it. Peter, who has been taking pictures on his polaroid ever since they arrived at Hogwarts, gives Sirius a small photo album and some pictures that he’s taken of him and the marauders over the course of the year. 

“Thanks, Peter, this is so nice. I love these.” Sirius flips through some of the photos and finds one from earlier in the night, with him next to Remus, Lily, and Marlene, looking at their shimmering cake with awe. Sirius had silently taken note of the photos that James and Peter had tacked up around their beds, of their families and places they had visited. Neither Remus nor Sirius have any on the walls, and Sirius is happy to finally be in possession of some photos of his friends. He’s sentimental. 

James gives him a fancy broomstick servicing kit, which makes Sirius light up. He messes around on the pitch a few times a week but hasn't been serious enough to try out for the team. He’s told everyone how he’s going out for it next year, and James gives him a very kind smile.

“So you can be top of your game next year.” 

“Thank you, James.” James just nods, looking happy with his own generosity. Remus gives his gift last, and nervously hands a record and a folded note to Sirius, who doesn’t have a single record to his name. The cover has a picture of a man with a guitar. He’s black and has a big afro that blends into the grainy black background. The only word on it is “HENDRIX”. 

“It’s Jimi Hendrix, his live record, Band of Gypsys.” Remus explains. “He recorded it last year, I think in New York City.”

“Wow.” Sirius breathes, immensely grateful. “Amazing, Remus, so cool. Let’s put it on.” Sirius turns on James’s record player and immediately sticks the record on. The boys laze around eating cake and sweets while the song picks up. It takes a while, and Sirius quickly comes to realize that this isn’t music to dance to, like the Kinks or Beatles, it’s heavy with guitar and Sirius loves it. “What’s this genre, then?” He asks Remus who looks entranced by the sound. 

“They call it psychedelic. Psychedelic rock. The muggles get high and listen to it.” 

“Whoa.” So they continue listening. The first song is almost ten minutes long. “So they just, they just play it all live? No magic?” 

“No magic. Except, well, he’s his own kind of magic, you know?” The guitar is soaring, an intense and impressive solo, and all Sirius can do is nod. “He’s wicked talented.” Remus whispers, and Sirius loves the amazed look on Remus’s face. The next song starts with the man on the cover, Jimi Hendrix, talking to the crowd. He mentions people fighting, in Milwaukee and Chicago (places none of them have ever heard of) and his American accent is so refreshing to hear that Sirius misses the part that gets James interested.

“Soldiers fighting in Vietnam?” James asks. 

“Hm?” Remus is listening to the record, but looks up at James. “Oh, the muggles have got a war on.” James frowns.

“Who? Why?” Remus shrugs.

“In Vietnam. It’s the Americans, they’re upset about the government there, I think, but I’ve heard it’s awful. The Americans are drafting people, my dad said.”

“What’s drafting?” Peter asks.

“You get a letter to your house that you have to go to war, and you have no choice. So loads of young guys are going off to die in Vietnam. No one’s really winning, everyone’s just dying. It’s horrible.” They sit in a solemn silence while the drums patter out the sound of a machine gun in the background. 

“I would hate to go to war.” Peter says quietly. Sirius looks away, trying not to think about his own family’s dark magic and their dedication to the Dark Lord himself. 

“Well, we’re not, right?” James says as he stands up. “It’s nearly two, now. I’m going to get ready for bed. I suppose it’s not your birthday anymore, but still, I hope it was a good one, Sirius.” 

“It was the best.” Sirius responds so quietly that he’s not sure if anyone has heard him. James and Peter get up while a single guitar note rings out loudly across the speaker and both Sirius and Remus nod their heads slowly to the music. Sirius has never been so impressed by the talent of  _ anyone  _ before but the sound of a single guitar tearing up an imaginary stage in New York is wonderful to him, and he wishes he had words for how thankful he is to Remus.

**j**

The first Quidditch match of the year takes place on Saturday, and James gets up earlier than usual because he’s too nervous to sleep, or eat, for that matter. He heads down to the pitch much earlier than he has to, but there’s a safety that comes in wearing his crimson and golden Quidditch robes and not having to stand on his own two feet that he’s craving.

He’s not surprised to see Austin and Yetta, the two oldest players on the team, circling the pitch in the air. A few Slytherins are warming up on the other side, and James gives them a friendly wave that is hesitantly returned. 

“Morning, James!” Austin calls down from where he’s hovering in the air. “Good to see you here so early!” James doesn’t reply until he flies up to meet them. The day is brisk but sunny, and Yetta has a scarf wrapped around her neck. 

“I’m a little nervous, honestly.” James confesses after he does a few warm up drills with them. 

“Don’t worry, James, I’ve got your back.” Yetta says kindly. She does have his back, she’s a sixth year and the bloody best chaser in the school, which makes James feel even more insecure about his own abilities. “Listen, if there’s any advice I have to give, it’s just to focus on what  _ you  _ have to do. Don’t worry about Austin, or Shelby at all. They have nothing to do with you.” Austin rolls his eyes but nods. It’s true, the seeker and keeper have nothing to do with James. “Dottie and Rosa are looking out for us, so don’t worry about them right? The only people you have to focus on are me and Hyatt. And getting the quaffle in the hoop. That’s all.” 

“Okay.” 

“If you tune everyone else out, you’ll be perfect. You won’t feel so bad in the heat of the moment.” 

“Okay.” Yetta smiles at him again. She has short brown hair that’s held out of her face by red and white bandana. 

“I’m quite excited, honestly.” She confesses, mostly to Austin, who apparently seems to share the sentiment. The three of them continue to warm up until players and viewers alike begin streaming down to the pitch, and Austin brings them all back to earth for a pep talk in the changing rooms. Dottie and Rosa are giggly and excited, but James’s friend Hyatt shares his own personal worries with James, who is glad that he’s not the only one a little edgy about the match. Austin goes through plays for the chasers one last time, which James forces himself to pay attention to, but they’re things they’ve gone over in practice, and it seems sooner rather than later that the seven of them are striding out onto the pitch to loud cheers of applause.

“And here we have team Gryffindor!” Comes a booming voice from the announcer’s stand. 

“Who’s commentating?” James whispers to Hyatt, who looks up at the stand and then back at James.

“One of the Prewett twins, I think. I’m pretty sure it’s Fabian.” 

“Team captain Austin Lacework, seventh year, is flying as seeker for the team this year. We have Shelby Medlar, a third year, as keeper, and Rosa Corrals as well as Dottie Barracus, both fifth years, as beaters. Our favorite Yetta Horn, sixth year (a loud cheer comes from the stands at her name and Yetta grins widely) is our first chaser, followed by second year Hyatt Ibex, and, finally, first year James Potter, the youngest chaser ever to play for Gryffindor.” This makes James quite worried and he feels enormous pressure weighing down on him. Prewett introduces the Slytherin team, who all look so much older and menacing to James.

Austin and the Slytherin captain shake hands before they all mount their brooms and Madam Hooch blows her whistle. All James can do is make sure he’s off the ground as fast as the rest of them are. 

It appears that Yetta was lying about feeling better in the heat of the moment because the second the game starts, it’s chaos. Yetta has found herself in possession of the quaffle already and streaks across the pitch, dodging a well aimed bludger and scoring their first goal in the first seconds of the game.

“Not even a minute in, and already we have ten points to Gryffindor thanks to Horn!” Fabian shouts, and James hovers lamely in the air, not knowing what to do. Austin and the Slytherin seeker are zooming around the sides of the stadium and bludgers are flying this way and that. The Slytherins have the quaffle and are passing it down the pitch, but Dottie bludgers one of them and they drop it. James has been sitting on his broom doing absolutely nothing, and decides that if anytime is the time to act, it’s now. So he drops, speeding towards the quaffle and grabs it, tucking it safely under one arm as he flies a show-offy (but shaky) loop-the-loop to dodge a bludger. 

“James!” Hyatt cries, hands outstretched, and James chucks the quaffle to him. Hyatt almost disappears with it with the speed he moves at, much faster than at practice, and tries to score but is blocked by the Slytherin keeper. James was told to focus, so he focuses. Dottie, Rosa, Austin, and Shelby are nonexistent to him in the moment, he’s just up there with Yetta and Hyatt and that’s all. They’re there to score goals. Nothing more.

Hyatt makes another misguided attempt at a goal but is nearly knocked off his broom by a bludger he had missed. Yetta makes up for this by scoring twice in a row, making a victory lap around the pitch before settling back into the game. 

James has been trying to get himself back into the game but never gets an opportunity to get at the ball. This is changed when he finds himself by the Slytherin hoops for no particular reason. Both Yetta and Hyatt are zooming towards him and James doesn’t know who has the quaffle, which seems to be the point of this play, but both Slytherin beaters are hot on their tails and with a look of desperation, Yetta pelts the ball at James who fumbles it in his gloved hands but manages to get a hold on it. The Slytherin beaters are confused about who has the ball, which James clears up by pitching the quaffle at the hoop with as much strength as he can muster. And it goes in.

“And Potter scores his first goal! That’s forty nil for Gryffindor!” Loud cheers go up from the audience and James flies around the stands, breathless with excitement. He’s even more delighted to glance over the stands to find his friends. Sirius is on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheers. Peter is taking a picture on his polaroid, and Remus is sitting generally placidly by their side. He’s the first to spot James, though, and waves excitedly as James soars over them, blazing with energy. 

The Slytherins score their first goal by double teaming Shelby, who has been performing with extreme competence so far. None of this matters, though, when James tunes into Fabian’s announcements, which have grown progressively louder.

“It looks like Lacework has seen the snitch!” Forgetting the “tune everything out” instructions, James glances around the pitch to see Austin hurtling towards the ground, pressed almost flat to his broom, with the Slytherin seeker on his tail. “What a nosedive he performed, a very talented flier, and he’s nearly parallel with the ground now-” James watches, frozen as Austin stretches out his arm, going far too fast to be riding one handed, growing ever closer to the ground, and then he pulls out of the dive so fast that even Fabian is speechless as Austin spirals into the sky, his arm held in a fist over his head- a position of triumph.

“Has he-? He’s caught the snitch! Blimey, Lacework’s won the game! Congratulations to  Gryffindor!” Fabian shouts into the microphone and James sees Austin loop around the pitch whooping while the crowd cheers wildly. Austin touches back on the ground and the team rush together to congratulate him, patting him on the back and all yelling with excitement. Caught up in their sweaty, excited huddle on the pitch, James feels happier than ever, and like he never wants this to end. 


	10. [YR 1] Family Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from the song "family name" by trophy eyes

_ i think i’m broken- the fingerprint smudge on the family portrait, but i guess someone has to be the disappointment  _

**r**

November passes much too quickly for Remus, and before he realizes it, their holiday break is upon them. The weather had progressively gotten colder and colder which had put Sirius in a permanently foul mood, cursing and swearing about how frozen he was all the time, even though the school always seems to be toasty and warm despite the heavy drifts of snow outside.

Quite opposite to his friend, Remus finds himself constantly hot, and had been doing research on spells to fade or remove scars inflicted by a werewolf, but has so far been unsuccessful. It’s no good to be constantly sweating underneath all his layers, it’s actually grown to be quite embarrassing for him, but neither Sirius nor James ever ask why he doesn’t just take off his jumper, which all the rest of them do. That’s one thing he’s excited about at home. He can wear whatever he wants without worrying about who sees his scars. 

Thankfully, they only have double Herbology on their last day before holidays, which means that Remus gets an intense cool down before and after class as they wade through the snow to the greenhouses. The snow had started falling in late November, which Remus had been delighted to see. It had usually fallen and barely stuck, but as the days went on and the weather grew colder, the snow grew thicker until it started building up- strong enough for snowball fights and building snowmen. Enough for properly enjoying snow the way it’s meant to be, not sitting inside and whinging while it falls, like Sirius would like to do. 

So, after Herbology, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaw first years end up in the courtyard outside, throwing tightly packed snowballs at each other until their faces sting with the cold. Remus had originally been playing the way he’s meant to, the muggle way, where you just chuck a snowball, but the pureblood kids had capitalized on their own magical abilities and started levitating multiple snowballs at once, which just hadn’t seemed fair. 

The sky is a steely grey but the world seems lighter, almost phosphorescent, when it’s covered in blankets of clean white snow. Remus throws snowballs for a while but grows tired of it quickly. James and Sirius are getting into an intense snow match with some of the Ravenclaws, and Remus and Peter leave to go back up to the tower to pack.

Remus’s limp has returned after the moon and the long climb back up to the tower is very taxing on his sore limbs. He had finally brought himself to lie about his disappearance to his friends, claiming that he had gotten detention for back talking Professor McGonagall, which is easy to believe based on how dreadful his temper gets around the moon. 

“Are you alright, Remus?” Peter asks as Remus falls behind him for a third time, catching his breath and gritting his teeth through the pain of walking on a mangled leg. Madam Pomfrey always tries her best to heal him, and she usually does a good job, but wounds inflicted by dark creatures leave scars that won’t heal, and Remus feels raw and painful as his itchy robes scratch against his wounds.

“Just stiff, I think. Must’ve slept funny last night.” Remus lies through his teeth, but Peter either doesn’t notice or choses not to ask him about it. Remus is eternally glad that Sirius and James aren’t as close with Peter as they are with each other, because it would be unmanageable for all three of the other marauders to be walking on eggshells around him. Once finally in the tower, Remus and Peter pack and clean up in companionable silence. James is the most organized out of all of them, with Remus and Sirius being the messiest, and Remus has quite a job to tackle when it comes to cleaning his corner of the dormitory.

He leaves clothes everywhere, not even bothering to do so much as fold them, and has books, records, quills, and parchment strewn all over the floor for anyone and everyone to see. Remus keeps a stash of chocolate under his bed, but due to the exceedingly large amounts of heat that the castle is channeling to keep up with the freezing weather outside, he’s unsurprised to find most of the bars soft and half melted. 

“Eugh.” Remus mutters, stacking the squishy chocolate bars on top of each other. “Is there any way to chill these, d'you think?” He asks Peter, who is busy tidying up his own area. 

“Oh, ew.” Peter says once looking over. “I know there’s a freezing charm, but that’s not what you want. Maybe leave them up by the windowsill?” 

“Oh, right.” Remus has gotten too used to using magic and has forgotten about the utterly simple fixes for problems like these. He levitates the chocolates over to the window, showing off a little bit, and returns to his cleaning. After a good twenty minutes, Sirius and James return to the dorms breathless and wet with snow. Sirius’s corner of the dorm always looks like a hurricane had just touched down, and his packing consists of throwing things into a pile on his floor that he’ll be taking home.

“So!” James chirps from by his bed, where he’s folding up some clothes. “My parents told me that they’re going to have a party for New Years, would you all be able to come?” Remus looks up in surprise. 

“Er, maybe. I don’t see why not.” The full moon in December takes place the day after Christmas, which would leave Remus a little exhausted on New Years Eve, but definitely more than willing to go to a party at James’s place. “I’ll have to ask my parents, though.” Remus says, which Peter echoes, although he lives right down the street from James and will obviously be at his family’s party.

“Oh, I doubt it.” Sirius says glumly. He’s been acting quieter than usual these past few days, and everyone seems to know how much he’s dreading going home, even if it is just for two weeks. “Have fun, though.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to have some fun, Sirius.” Peter says, which doesn’t help anything at all. Sirius glares at him and Remus winces, seeing a fight brewing. 

“What, like I wasn’t going to have fun anyways? Stuck up at the Black residence, miserable?” Sirius snaps ferociously.

“The way you piss and moan about it, I just expected you were set on making yourself as unhappy as possible.” Peter retorts childishly. Sirius had been in a very whiny mood in the days leading up to the holiday. James, always an optimist, had encouraged him to have a positive attitude about going home and making the best of the situation, but that had displeased Sirius even more, and the boys had taken to avoiding the topic of Sirius’s family, as it always gets him in a nasty mood. 

“Piss and moan?! It’s not a choice that I’m  _ making _ , Peter.” Sirius hisses bitterly. “We can’t all be so blessed to have caring and rational families that give a damn about us.” 

“Okay! Let’s end it there.” Remus crosses himself in the background and James grins at him before interrupting them. Sirius is bristling with bitter jealousy, and Remus realizes that the four of them in the dorm at once isn’t going to end well. 

“Er, I was going to go take out a book from the library, Sirius, care to join?” Remus asks suddenly, wanting an excuse to get out of their stuffy, angry dormitory. Sirius looks up at him with heat still in his eyes, but he realizes that Remus is just trying to deescalate the situation. 

“Sure, fine. Whatever. I’ll wait downstairs.” Sirius slams the door shut behind him and the three boys can hear his footsteps stomping down to the common room. Remus sighs loudly and Peter looks worried.

“What did I say?”

“Come on, Pete, you know how he hates talking about home…” While James explains the foreign concept of sensitivity to Peter, Remus goes downstairs to find Sirius standing in the common room looking restless. His dark hair is longer than ever, he hadn’t cut it at all in the months they had been there, and he looks a bit wild. 

“Remus.” He says, that’s it, just his name, but Remus nods at him in understanding. They leave the portrait hole but not to walk towards the library, although Remus does want a few new books to take home with him. The Christmas feast will be starting in about an hour, and the school is busy with students and professors alike in the corridors. Remus and Sirius walk without knowing where they’re going, and Remus is surprised when Sirius opens up to him. 

“Is it wrong… well, it  _ is  _ wrong, but is it bad to be so jealous, do you think?” Sirius asks quietly.

“Jealous how?” Remus, always a good listener, responds patiently.

“Of Pete. Of James. Of their families… I wish I had homes like they do. I dunno if you understand, but, my mum… she hates me. She really does. And my dad is indifferent to it all, he’ll do whatever she asks. But she hates me, doesn’t even want me there.” Sirius’s voice has turned rough, and he looks at the ground while they walk. “I’m so badly jealous of them that it makes me angry. Like I wish they had to live like I do.” 

“It makes sense, though.” Remus feels bad for his friend, having never had many issues with his parents. “Of course you’re jealous, that’s natural. And I’m sorry about your family.” Sirius finally looks up at him, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

“What about you, Remus?”

“What about me?” Sirius shrugs.

“Don’t tell me your life is as perfect as theirs.” Remus could make up some lies about not getting along with his parents or being bullied by muggles at school, but none of it would be true, and he can’t lie. 

“It’s not…” If only Sirius knew. Then he wouldn’t complain. In that moment, wandering the halls of Hogwarts, Remus wonders if he should tell Sirius. In utter confidence, telling him seriously that he’s a werewolf- but the thought is impulsive and wrong, and Remus pushes it away quickly. “It’s not perfect, not at all.” Is what he finally decides to say, and he can see Sirius itching to hear his secret- he had called it- his secret hatred.

“Any examples?” Sirius pushes, but Remus won’t give in. 

“Sirius, I don’t need to be telling everyone my problems for them to be problems.” Remus realizes his fault as soon as the words leave his mouth, and Sirius gives him a familiar glare. 

“All I want- all I want to hear is that someone else has some bloody problems, and it’s not just me, hurting, by myself.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“What did you mean? That I should shut up about it?” 

“No, Sirius, there are just some things I  _ can’t  _ tell you, and I’m glad you’re talking to me about your family because it’s unhealthy to keep it all in, so I’m the one who’s being wrong here, not you, okay? Please don’t be angry.” Remus backtracks quickly and Sirius sighs, stopping in place.

“I just… I can’t talk to James about this stuff because his life is so  _ perfect. _ And you, you’re so mysterious, and you have- I mean, er…”

“Christ, Sirius.” Remus is now the one angry, knowing that James had told Sirius all about his scars and now Sirius has the gall to mention it to his face. 

“Sorry!” Sirius has blushed pink, something that Remus has never seen before. “It’s just, we’re worried, Remus.” 

“Well don’t be.” Remus snaps. “I’m not going to explain it to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” 

“If it’s your parents-”

“It’s  _ not _ , though!” Remus shouts. He hardly ever raises his voice and regrets it when he sees the shocked expression on Sirius’s face. “My parents aren’t beating me, if that’s what you’re thinking! It’s got nothing to do with you, so drop it, okay?” Sirius shrugs, the fight leaving him, and Remus sighs loudly, scratching at his head. Sirius now seems satisfied that he’s not alone in having problems, though, and doesn’t mention his own family or Remus’s as they finally make their way to the library.

**s**

The Hogwarts Express looks picturesque in the snow. 

Snowflakes are coming down softly, framing the train at Hogsmeade station and making it look like something out of a painting. Sirius’s breath fogs in the air as he waits behind a long line of students getting on to the train. The Christmas feast had taken place the previous night and had been a cheerful event for most people, but Sirius had felt gloomy ever since the fight with Peter and the subsequent one with Remus, which feels much sharper in Sirius’s mind. 

Remus has a way of avoiding people after having confrontations with them, and had spent the entire feast locked in an apparently fascinating conversation with Marlene. It never seems like he and her fight, and Remus always appears to find a solace within her company. The next morning, he had been as polite and soft spoken as ever, but not making eye contact. Sirius feels bad that they’re leaving for break on bad terms, and hopes that they’ll forget about the fight with the change of scenery and events taking place. 

Sirius boards the train last out of their friend group, and finds himself with not much to say as they load into a train carriage near the end. James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene, and Mary are all sat in the car chattering to each other. Sirius sits next to the window, across from Remus, who is smushed up against Marlene and talking with her eagerly. His face is pink with excitation and Sirius presses his cheek against the cold glass, jealous. No one bothers with him as the train leaves the station, and he spends maybe twenty minutes in silence until whatever conversation he’s been left out of finally winds its way back to him.

“Anything you’re particularly excited for about Christmas, Sirius?” Lily asks with cheerful ignorance. Remus, Peter, and James’s voices quiet but Lily doesn’t seem to realize his aversion to the topic. 

“No.” He growls in a surly voice that earns him an upset look from James.

“Oh, does your family not celebrate?” Lily continues blindly.

“We do, but there’s not much spirit in the Black household.” 

“Sirius, just because you’re not looking forward to it, doesn’t mean you have to act like such a scrooge!” Lily says sharply and Sirius finally looks across the car at her, where she’s been sitting and talking to Mary and James. As always, Lily’s fiery presence makes Sirius feel rather sheepish.

“Sorry, Evans.” She just tuts at him and turns back to her conversation.

“That’s alright, Sirius.” Marlene says kindly from Remus’s side. “Not everyone likes this time of year, it’s only natural for someone to be unhappy about it. I hope you find something to cheer you up, though.” Her words are so compassionate that Sirius feels even worse, and he barely smiles at her.

“Cheers, Marlene.” The rest of the train ride is a boring and awkward affair for Sirius, who tries to nap for the rest of it, and who only talks a little more with Marlene and Remus before they arrive at King’s Cross. Everyone gathers eagerly around the window to spot their families as they roll in, unintentionally crowding Sirius’s personal space.

Marlene spots her large family first- she has two older brothers and an older sister. Lily has a twin sister who looks nothing like her, and has a thin face with dark brown hair. Lily had explained that Petunia, her sister, was badly jealous of her since she had been born with magical powers and had received a letter to the prestigious wizarding school, while Petunia was left as ordinary as ever. Lily is surprised to even see her there.

Mary’s parents and older sister are waiting for her, along with Peter’s parents and sisters. James’s parents are older but he looks like the perfect combination of them, which makes Sirius smile a bit. Remus’s parents have been talking with the Potters and look rather plain, but Remus greatly resembles his tall father. Sirius spots his own family last and sighs loudly. They’re talking with the Lestranges and wearing dramatic outfits of all black, not blending into the muggle train station well.

“Sirius, I didn’t know you had a brother.” Remus says in surprise, looking at Regulus.

“Right, yeah. Regulus. He’s a year younger.” The train has finally slid to a halt and Sirius watches his friends gather their things with a heartsick sort of ache in his chest. “I’d better say goodbye now, my parents won’t want me to hang about on the platform.” He says goodbye to the girls first, wishing them all a happy Christmas and returning Mary’s tight hug with enthusiasm. “Ta, see you next year!” He calls after Marlene, who waves shyly at him before she follows her friends down the hall. The marauders are left in the suddenly silent train car.

“Well, I’d better be off.” Peter says quickly. “Have a good- I mean, bye, Sirius.”

“Have a good Christmas, Pete.” Sirius says miserably as Peter scutters out of the car. He’ll probably socialize with the rest of them in the station, which Sirius definitely won’t be allowed to do. 

James hugs him, suddenly and strangely. Sirius is stiff for a second before he hugs his friend back.

“Take care, mate, okay? Write to us.” 

“Of course.” Sirius says in a choked voice. “Enjoy the party, and the holidays, lads.” They grab their things and finally exit the train. Sirius wishes he could stay just a second longer, knowing that he won’t be able to act the same once he’s back with his family.

**j**

Sirius seems to be whisked away by his mother as soon as he exits the train. He gives James and Remus one last desperate wave over his shoulder before he disappears with his family. James finds that he doesn’t have the time to ponder Sirius’s Christmas anymore, because his mother has pulled him into a crushing hug and basically lifts him off his feet. 

“Mum!” He squeaks in embarrassment, trying and failing to squirm out of her tight hug. 

“Oh James, I’ve missed you so much!” Euphemia wails as James struggles in her vice grip. James is the only child of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, who love him more than anything in the world. They had married young, in their early twenties, and had been trying for a baby for decades. With miscarriage after miscarriage, Fleamont and Euphemia had all but given up on having a baby, which had been their dream of starting a family. It had been a sad surprise when Euphemia had gotten pregnant again in July of 1959. She had been as careful as ever, making sure she was as healthy as possible in the slim hopes that her baby would live, and miraculously, he did. 

James was born in late March, healthy and perfect and beautiful. Their miracle baby. That’s a way that James differs from his friends- Sirius had been unplanned, but had been a wake up call to his parents once he had been born. Remus’s parents had wanted a baby, and had been delighted when their son was born. They had wanted to wait before having another child, but money had been tight and there just hadn’t been enough time and then Remus had been bitten, which had changed everything.

James notices that Remus’s mum hugs him only briefly, and his dad doesn’t look too thrilled to see him. This engages James' curious and nosy side once again, because despite Remus’s insistence that his parents hadn’t done anything to him, they don’t look pleased to see him.

“You must be Remus, eh?” Fleamont says to Remus attentively. Remus is suddenly as shy and nervous as he was the first day on the train, and he very gingerly shakes Fleamont’s hand while James tries not to laugh. “Hope to see you at New Years!” Fleamont continues, earning twin looks of uneasiness from Remus’s parents, who seem eager to leave the station, but not as eager as Sirius’s family had been.

The Lupins say quick goodbyes, and Remus tells James excitedly that he’ll see him next week for the party. At last, James has returned home. 


	11. [YR 1] Sprouting Sons / Ageless Daughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "behind the sea" by panic! at the disco

_ we’re all too small to talk to god  _

**r**

Something has changed while Remus has been at school.

His parents are quiet and obviously in the middle of a sort of row which Remus doesn’t want to get involved in. They’re very quiet as they wander through muggle London to Diagon Alley, which is merry and bright with Christmas spirit, but Remus isn’t allowed to stop anywhere as they head to the Leaky Cauldron to use the floo network. Remus doesn’t like traveling by floo, but it’s better than apparition, which he used once with his dad and made him feel dizzy and ill for the rest of the day. 

Remus knows that his mum doesn’t like using wizarding forms of transportation, it makes her just as nauseous as him, and they arrive in the kitchen dizzy from the journey across the UK. 

“I’m going for a lie down.” Hope Lupin says almost immediately as she arrives, holding onto the kitchen counter for support as she staggers away from the fireplace. Remus can’t help but feel a little disappointed that she doesn’t want to hear about his first months at Hogwarts, but he assumes he’s written her enough about it for her to get the gist. “Floo makes me feel a bit unwell.”

“Okay, mum. Feel better!” Remus replies as Lyall appears in the flashing green fireplace. It’s raining in Wales, and the day outside is damp and dreary. There’s light snow showers up north, but hardly ever heavy snow, and Remus looks at the dark nighttime with a sad sort of feeling, missing the view from the Gryffindor tower. Still, it’s nice to be home. Their kitchen is small but warm, cluttered with dishes, food, utensils, and plants all along the wide window sill. Remus’s mum loves gardening, and fondly grows plants both inside and outside of the house. Remus sits in the warmly lit kitchen while his father puts the kettle on, humming under his breath in a way that fondly reminds Remus of James. 

“So,” Lyall says conversationally. “How were the first few months?” 

“Grand.” His son replies, not intending to use James’s vocabulary. “I’ve got really nice friends there, they’re all so cool. And everything is so interesting, you know? I’m so glad Dumbledore let me go.” Remus smiles and his dad does as well, thinking back on his own days at the wizarding school. 

“I am too. What’s your favorite subject?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Remus replies without hesitation. “It’s so  _ fascinating, _ don’t you think? Like, the Dark Arts are bad, obviously, but learning about them is just… I dunno, it’s so interesting to me.” 

“You have a point.” Lyall says, pouring the tea into two mugs and adding sugar to his own and honey to Remus’s, just the way he likes it. “How were the moons?” Remus looks sad when his lycanthropy is brought up, especially when he’s been struggling quite badly with the secret while at school.

“Bad.” Remus looks down into his tea with a melancholy gaze. “It’s just hard, having to hide it.” Lyall nods but doesn’t provide sympathy. “What…” Remus starts, pressing a topic that he’s been thinking about for a while. “What would happen if I told someone about it?” Lyall’s eyes flash upward, serious. “Like a friend. My friends. I just hate lying to them.”

“Telling your friends isn’t a chance that we’re willing to take.” His father says sharply. “You’ll just have to keep lying.”

“But I’m  _ awful  _ at it, they know something’s wrong. And,” Remus adds, starting to gain traction, “they’ve seen my scars and they think  _ you’re  _ hurting me.” This really gets Lyall’s attention and he looks deeply troubled as he stares intently over his mug.

“They think  _ I _ am?”

“My friend James, you met him, he saw them after Quidditch lessons and he asked me about them.”

“And what did you say?” Lyall sounds angry, which upsets his young son. 

“I told him that you didn’t do anything, and that I couldn’t tell him why I had them! Because what story could I tell him? What could I make up?” Lyall stares at his only son, just eleven years old, and already tormented by something that isn’t his fault. 

“Maybe it would be better if you told them that it is me.”

“ _ What?!”  _ Remus is shocked at being told to blame something that he’s done to himself on his father. “James would end up telling his father, and he’s big in the wizarding world-”

“It’s better than you being outed as a werewolf.” Remus splutters, hardly able to believe this.

“But dad, it’s not your fault, I can’t blame it on you, I’d rather just say I’ve done it to myself!”

“It is my fault.” Lyall says quietly, and Remus’s thoughts stop racing- he’s been struck dumb. 

“What?” Is all he can manage to ask, not knowing what else is appropriate at this point. 

“It’s my fault you were bitten.” Lyall says very slowly and quietly. He stirs at his tea, not making eye contact with his son. Remus doesn’t respond. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking about the right moment to tell you. I suppose you’re old enough now.” 

Remus barely remembers the night it happened. He had been lying in bed and suddenly he had been woken up by someone in his room, someone tall and dark and scary and at first he had thought it was his dad, but then the stranger howled in a throat wrenching way and pushed the five year old Remus back into the bed, hurting him, clawing him- biting him. It had hurt. It had hurt very badly. Remus had been scratched and torn at and he had screamed, he was screaming and crying when Lyall burst into the room with Hope right behind him, wand brandished, eyes full of fear. Remus doesn’t remember what the werewolf looked like, and how he had left. 

“How is it your fault?” Remus asks, a little afraid to know the answer. Lyall won’t look at him and that’s hurtful enough, knowing that he’s badly ashamed of what had happened. Lyall sighs and puts down his mug of tea, looking conspiratorially around the small kitchen. 

“The werewolf who bit you… his name is Greyback. Fenrir Greyback.” Remus is watching his father very closely, trying to meet his eyes, but unable to. “I knew him.” Remus stays silent, although he knows his father is waiting for a reaction from him. “He was at the Ministry, under questioning, and he wasn’t registered, so we didn’t know. And, I insulted him, I wanted to detain him-”

“Detain?”

“Lock him up, in… in a cell, until the next full moon.” Lyall desperately wishes that Remus would get angry with him or ask more concrete questions, but his young son stays silent. “I was…” Lyall clears his throat. “I was awful, I said awful things about werewolves. I lost my temper. Greyback was free to go, but he wanted revenge.” Lyall stops, his voice choked.

“He wanted revenge on you.” Remus says in a calm voice.

“So he came after my family.” Lyall’s voice is barely audible, and Remus is shocked to see his father so upset, even tearing up. “I’m so sorry, Remus. So sorry.”

**s**

_ Dear Sirius, _

_ Happy birthday! We haven’t known each other long but I’m very glad to have you as a friend. I know your gift is sort of pointless without a record player, but that’s why we keep James around, right? I hope you enjoy being twelve, it seems so much more important than eleven. Enjoy your day!! _

_ Remus _

No one at Hogwarts had written Sirius a birthday card except for silly, sentimental, Remus Lupin. His handwriting is small and scruffy, representing him faultlessly, and Sirius has kept his note tucked within his pocket ever since he had gotten home from school. He reaches in just to feel it there, knowing that he does have friends and a life outside the Black family. He reaches into his pocket just to feel the warmth that the words provide. He needs that warmth, these days.

Coming home had been an unnecessarily chaotic affair for everyone in the non extended members of the Blacks, none of whom had been very happy to see Sirius, and hadn’t spoken to him at all on their journey back to the cramped and dark house in inner London. 

Feeling lonely and bored, Sirius drags himself up to his bedroom where he’s instantly annoyed by all the questions that Regulus has to ask him. 

“What’s the castle like? Is it huge? Have you gotten lost?”

“Nah, I have a good sense of direction. And I have a map.”

“Can I see?” 

“It’s in my bag, you can look for it.” Sirius gestures at his backpack on the floor that Regulus nearly pounces on, digging through his older brother’s disorganized possessions while Sirius lies on his bed and thinks about how much he’d rather be elsewhere. 

“What was the sorting like? Were the Slytherins angry? Did anyone react?”

“The Gryffindors cheered for me.” Sirius replies haughtily. “And Bella and I had tea, we’re on good terms.” Regulus frowns as he finally finds Sirius’s map of Hogwarts, and unfolds the parchment to look down at the large, detailed map drawn up. “Apparently she’s going out with Rolodphus Lestrange.” Sirius continues.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be coming over for New Years. Them and the Malfoys, obviously.” Regulus says knowingly. He’s been lonelier than ever without his brother at home, and has taken to amusing himself by eavesdropping on his parents’ conversations and meetings with other pureblood families. In the end, their ideas had been more worrying than amusing, but Regulus hadn’t shared what he had heard with anyone. Although Sirius would have been the only person to tell. His brother looks depressed at the mention of New Years and sighs dramatically. 

“I was invited to a New Years party at my friend’s, but I’m obviously not going to be able to go.”

“Whose?” Regulus asks, sitting with his back against Sirius’s bed, entranced by his map.

“James, did you see him at the station?”

“With the funny glasses?”

“Yeah.” Sirius sighs, missing his friend. “His family’s popular, the party’s going to be ridiculously fun, I bet.” 

“Did you have any at school?” Regulus asks as a means to change the topic from Sirius missing out on a celebration. “Parties, I mean.” This is finally a topic that agrees with Sirius, and he sits up with his storytelling face on. 

“Yeah, they threw a good one for my birthday. And after the first Quidditch match of the year, which  _ Gryffindor  _ won.” Regulus sticks his tongue out at his brother, who smiles back at him. 

“Why didn’t you get on the team?” Regulus asks, and Sirius makes a face. To be honest, he had been dodging the question ever since tryouts had come and gone, making up excuses about being too lazy or uncommitted to the game, but the truth is, he’s not the surest in his own Quidditch skills, which makes him feel worse because his parents had bought him a broom over the summer in hopes that he would play for Slytherin, like his father had. 

“Tough competition. James made it, and he’s the only first year on. Youngest chaser ever, can you believe it?” Regulus does look impressed, and Sirius wishes for the millionth time that he and his brother could practice Quidditch at home. 

Number twelve Grimmauld place is a narrow, dark sort of house that Sirius has lived in since he was born. The walls are stained dark wood and hung with portraits of sneering family members who always have some unwarranted advice to impart on Sirius and his brother. The house is fairly cluttered, with magical objects everywhere, and decorated by Walburga Black, Sirius’s mother, with a tasteless eye. Sirius’s least favorite ‘decoration’ is along the stairwell. The mounted heads of the family’s past house elves are set on the wall, and Sirius always avoids his eyes while climbing the stairs so as not to look into the hollow, empty eyes of the dead elves. In the summer, the house becomes damp and moldy, and in the winter, not even a roaring fire can warm up the miserable place. There’s only thin, grimy windows on the second floor of the house, where the bedrooms are, and the lights in the house are yellowish and sickening

Sirius hates it.

They live among muggles, god knows why, and never interact with their neighbors. Sirius grew up practicing Quidditch in the grounds of Malfoy manor, or the Lestrange mansion since his family is so close to theirs, or his father would take him and Reg out to a field near where he grew up to fly. Sirius had been practicing at Hogwarts, but already feels cooped up and restless when stuffed into the nasty little house that he’s expected to call home. 

The family had eaten dinner before picking Sirius up from the station, so he ventures back down from the kitchen to find something to eat while he leaves Regulus to curiously read his spellbooks. The Black’s house elf is aptly named Kreacher. He has a wide head, a very long, hooked nose, and wears a permanent scowl. There are dark circles under his eyes and deep lines on his face, making him a dreadful sight to see.

“Master Sirius,” he wheezes in a loathsome voice, and barely bows when he sees Sirius.

“Hullo.” Sirius responds sullenly. The kitchen is a long room, but as badly lit as the rest in the house. It’s always smelled faintly of mildew, and Sirius wrinkles his nose as he enters. “Have we got anything to eat?” He asks Kreacher, who glowers at him.

“Kreacher has already prepared supper for the rest of the Black family.” 

“I didn’t ask about who already ate supper, I asked if we had anything to eat.” Sirius repeats himself and Kreacher gives him a look so dirty that Sirius feels like he needs a shower. Muttering insults to himself under his breath, the old house elf disappears into the pantry and returns with a half eaten loaf of bread. It looks a bit stale, but at least not moldy, and Sirius looks at it with a frown. “That’s all?”

“Kreacher prepares meals for the family when Mistress or Master Black ask for them.” 

“Fine, then.” Sirius snatches the bread from Kreacher’s hands and storms out of the kitchen. His parents are sitting in the drawing room- his mother working on one of her decorating projects, this one having to do with a troll’s leg, and his father reading the newspaper. The drawing room is dark and elegant, with shiny black furniture, an ornate chandelier, and a large black piano in the corner. On the wall hangs a massive tapestry of the entire Black family tree. Orion’s phonograph is playing classical wizarding music and Sirius, still clutching the bread, looks at the player with longing.

“My friend James got me a record for my birthday.” He says unprompted, and his father shakes the paper out of his face to look across the room at his son. “It’s Jimi Hendrix, he plays guitar.”

“Well, you can play it tomorrow when we’re having a meeting at the Lestranges'.” Orion says slowly, twitching the paper, and looking expectantly as his son. 

“Er... speaking of James, he’s having a party over at his house, on New Years. And I was invited.” Walburga is still sewing at the troll’s leg and Sirius averts his eyes from that disaster, focusing instead on his father. “Do you think I’d be able to go?”

“Well, I don’t see why not-”

“James who?” Walburga interrupts in her high, edgy voice. She’s finally put down her project and glares over at her oldest son, who seems to shrink under her gaze.

“James Potter. He’s a pureblood.” Walburga’s grey eyes bore into Sirius’s, and he looks away.

“A pureblood with muggle loving parents. You’re better off here. Not saying much though, seeing as you’ve disappointed everyone with being sorted into Gryffindor. Hm.” Walburga stares at him with so much malice in her gaze that Sirius would do anything to get away from her. He squirms under her glare. “Fine.” Walburga says flippantly, turning back to her troll leg.

“What?” Sirius asks, shocked to the core. Walburga turns up to him with a furious face and Sirius backs away.

“I wouldn’t want to show you off at our party, not the way you’ve ended up. I don’t know what I did wrong when raising you. Go to your party. You’re a disgrace.”

“Thank you.” Sirius breathes quietly, ignoring the insult in favor of the opportunity he’s been given. He returns to his room in a much better mood, not even feeling the pains of his hunger anymore.

**j**

James Potter and his family have always been well liked within the wizarding community. James’s dad had invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, which smooths and controls untidy hair, which is incredibly ironic as Fleamont is balding and his son has incredibly untidy hair that refuses to be tamed, despite excessive amounts of potion having been rubbed into it over the years. This potion had become immensely popular with wizards seeing as it (usually) worked well, and the Potter family had ended up with a small fortune.

Still, on Christmas morning, James’s favorite gift from his parents hadn’t been expensive, or cost them anything at all. It was a cloak. His father hands it to him very seriously, explaining that it is a family heirloom and literally one of a kind- extremely precious and valuable. The cloak shines and glints oddly, sort of like the ocean shimmering under noonday sun. 

“What is it?” James asks as he takes the cloak from his father. It slides under his fingers like silk, and James experimentally wraps it around himself. His parents’ faces look amused and James frowns at them, wondering why they’re laughing at him. When he looks down, though, he understands. “Blimey! I’m invisible!” 

“Exactly,” Fleamont laughs. “It’s an invisibility cloak.”

“Wow.” Is all James really has to say. He pulls the cloak over his head and gets up, running into the bathroom to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and is delighted to find that he isn’t there at all. “Wow!” He runs back into the living room, pulling the cloak off and rumpling his hair even further. “This is yours?” He asks his father, who nods.

“My father gave it to me when I started at Hogwarts.” James grins widely, arms wrapped tightly around the cloak, thinking about all the possibilities that it holds. All the pranks they can play… “I supposed it was fitting to give it to you, in your first year.”

“This is amazing, thank you!” James says, hugging his dad, obsessed with his new possession.

“Be careful, though, James.” Euphemia warns him. “If you lose that cloak, or have it taken from you…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but the weight of her words leave an impression on her son.

“I understand. I’ll keep it safe.” His parents nod, apparently satisfied. The rest of Christmas day is full of cheerful energy. Euphemia works hard on a big meal that they eat in the late afternoon. It doesn’t snow much in Cornwall, James supposes that out of all of his friends, Marlene is the one who sees the most snow, since she lives near Edinburgh. Still, she had been visiting family in London for Christmas, and had come back to King’s Cross with the rest of them. 

The Potter’s Christmas tree is giant and towering, far too big for their living room and dropping pine needles all over the floor. James had spent the previous night trying out magical spells on it- changing the color of it and adding as many glittering decorations as he can fit. His dad makes eggnog and gives him a mug of it. James has never tasted it before and finds the drink fascinating- heavy but boozy, and he ends up flush faced and a tiny bit tipsy when they settle in for the Christmas tradition of a game of Scrabble.

Euphemia wins, she always does, but James’s parents go easy on him since it’s not fair to play hard against an eleven year old. Scrabble lasts a while, since Euphemia and Fleamont have mixed highballs for themselves and are a little giddy with alcohol. Still, the religious nature of the day isn’t forgotten when the night draws on and Fleamont brings out his family Bible. There's a heirloom that James isn't itching to inherit. His father had been raised Protestant, though he's truly not very religious, and they hardly ever go to church. But Fleamont always reads them verses on Christmas in respect of the holy day. James sits between his parents on the couch as Fleamont reads.

Sleepy, warm, and safe, James listens to his father's familiar voice. He's finishing a proverb and James hears the words without making any sense of them:

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bible quote is from james 1:17 ;)


	12. [YR 1] Wound Up Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> call literally every chapter i write a filler if you want but in my humble eyes, every single thing i write is necessary to the plot. (right?? haha whatever enjoy this holiday "filler")
> 
> lyrics from "visiting" by pinegrove

_ i’m spectral for days on end these days with thoughts about visiting  _

**r**

Remus spends Boxing Day wishing he was dead. Maybe not with a full intensity of being  _ dead,  _ maybe just not being burdened with the pain of it all, and it’s taxing enough. Christmas Day itself had been tense for many reasons. The first reason was that Remus and Lyall were barely on speaking terms since the conversation that had taken place in the kitchen when Remus had returned from Hogwarts. He’s still trying to figure out how to process that the worst part of his life, something that will never cease to afflict him and, in fact, get worse throughout his life, had been generally brought upon him by his own father.

Which is hard to deal with.

The second reason for the tension was that Lyall and Hope were still, also, barely on speaking terms for reasons relatively unknown to their son. What Remus doesn’t know is that his parents have been fighting ever since he left for Hogwarts. It had started with little things, like being too messy or forgetting to lock the door before leaving the house for the day. But their rows became more commonplace and over smaller things- how loudly Lyall breathed or how Hope always interrupted him with nonsequiteurs. It had gotten to a point that they spent more time fighting than they did talking normally, and Hope had resolved to solve the issue by simply spending as little time around her husband as possible. 

Remus had been in their lives for so long that they hadn’t realized the shift in their personalities, and when he left for school, the sudden absence of a child had caused their personalities to grate against each other and result in unhappy chaos. 

The third, and final reason, that Christmas is generally miserable is because the full moon is taking place on the 26th. It makes Remus feel a bit better that he’s at home and doesn’t have to work himself into a nasty mood by lying to and avoiding his friends, but he’s still ill and unhappy. 

He takes a walk around the village with his parents during the day. The sky is a heavy grey and has been for months, though it’s holding off rain for now. The countryside is full of soft green hills that roll off in every direction, and Remus looks out at dreary Wales with a heavy sigh. He thinks about America and the big cities there, how different they must be. New York City, with skyscrapers and bright lights and punk bands. Los Angeles, with blonde tan people who have perfect teeth and ride surfboards, and skateboards, and say things like “far out” and “groovy, man”. 

He wants to visit America. He’ll go, one day. Remus imagines himself in California, in the warm western sun at a big sandy beach and smiles, thinking about how ridiculous that would be. He wouldn’t fit in at all.

It’s nice to imagine what it would be like though. His family has never really gone on holiday before. They’ve visited cities over weekends and once had gone down to Brighton beach for a week in the summer, which had been rather nice. Still, Remus has never been outside the U.K, and wonders what southern Europe is like. Spain, Portugal, Italy. It all sounds lovely, but Remus still loves home, despite the grey weather. 

The Lupins eat a quiet supper. Remus has been daydreaming since he got home, having nobody to really talk to, and is now thinking about what James might be doing right now, with his family. Or Sirius, with his little brother. Remus has always wanted siblings, but understands that his parents have been through enough with him as their son.

When night time comes, all three of them are left in a tense waiting game, unhappy and unable to distract themselves from the upcoming transformation. Remus sits up in his room and tries to write a letter to Sirius, but can’t think of what to tell him. He can’t mention Christmas, or New Years, or his dad dropping the werewolf information on him, so he scraps the letter entirely and lays back on his bed, feeling restless and ill. 

His body feels a few degrees hotter than it should be, and he wipes a sheen of sweat from his brow. Remus can feel the transformation the most in the minutes before it happens. It feels like an itch all over his body, almost a burning- like he’s been pricked by a million pins, and then his mind goes blank with human thoughts. Things turn violent, then, and he’s plagued only by thoughts of the wolf. Single word verbs, mostly.  _ Hunt. Kill. Escape.  _ Remus whines anxiously and twists in his bed, dreading the routine that’s coming.

When the discomfort grows too much, Remus will quietly but quickly go downstairs. His parents will be waiting in the lounge, trying to distract themselves from the night to come, but obviously unable to. Lyall and Hope will look at their young son standing nervously in front of them, twisting his hands nervously in front of him. His low eyes will glow gold. Then he’ll be led down to the cellar, which is well lit but cold, and Remus will feel a burning shame at having to be locked away from his parents because he would kill them in this state, he’s not even a human being and it makes him feel sick with self hatred. Hope will tell him “I love you” and Lyall will lock the door, casting defensive spells on it, and the family will wait anxiously, separated by a door, a floor, and layers of powerful magic. 

Remus will cry sometimes, hating himself for what he is and for the fear that he invokes in his parents. He’ll be so lonely, wishing on top of everything that he just  _ had  _ someone, that he just had anyone else to spend the transformation with. There’s nothing worse, truly nothing, than transforming into a werewolf for the night, transforming back, and having to wake up alone and broken. There’s no worse feeling.

**s**

Sirius had sent James a letter over Boxing Day telling him that he would be attending his party after all, unaccompanied. James’s response comes promptly and is as excited as the boy himself, saying that he had gotten the best Christmas present  _ ever  _ and couldn’t wait to show the rest of the marauders. Sirius hadn’t really bought the rest of his friends presents, not having realized that he would be spending time with them over the holiday, and collects a bunch of sweets to give to them.

He spends the few days before New Years acting on his best behavior at home, and even letting Regulus play with his wand, though under careful supervision. Having something to look forward to brightens Sirius’s week, and on the morning of the 31st, Sirius’s mood is heightened even further by the arrival of not one, not two, but three letters. 

The Potters have a well behaved snowy owl who waits patiently on Sirius’s thin windowsill while he looks over James’s letter. 

_ Sirius! _

_ Sorry for the short notice, and sorry if you’re not able to, but I asked Peter and he can, and I think Remus is able to, so would you be able to ask your parents if you could stay the night tonight? The party will probably go on late, and it would be so fun if you could stay over, just for a day. Let me know, I’ll see you tonight! _

_ Your friend,  _

_ James _

Sirius smiles while reading over the note. James’s handwriting represents him well, just like Remus’s. His is big and scrawling, taking up nearly an entire piece of parchment, and is obviously hastily written. Sirius feels momentarily giddy with the delight at being wanted at the Potters, but realizes that this means he has to interact with his mother.

Walburga is in her party preparation sort of mood, which means that she’s a whirlwind of frightening activity, and Sirius would ordinarily know better than to talk to her, but the pretty white owl is watching him from the windowsill and he hastily tells her to wait before taking a deep breath and heading downstairs. Regulus is standing on the stairs, being used to aid in the decorating, and is currently holding up a bunch of streamers next to countless other ones being levitated in the air next to him. Walburga stands in the entryway, comparing the colors and frowning as she tries to decide which ones she’d like to use.

“Sirius, get out of the way, I’m trying to decide on streamers.” Instead of leaving, Sirius himself glances up at the glittering decorations. 

“I think the silver ones are proper, they look classy. Mum, my friend James asked if I could stay the night, tonight. Since the party will be so late.” Walburga turns her eyes on her eldest son with a familiar expression of disdain. She’s torn between letting her son spend more time than necessary with his muggle loving friends or having him around at home more than she’d like. Still, it won’t really matter if he’s just gone overnight.

“Fine, you can stay over.” Walburga says as Sirius mentally pumps his fist in triumph. “I’ll be glad to not see you.”

“Thank you, mum, really.” Sirius dodges the insult once again and gives his mother a rare, genuine smile before bounding back upstairs and scribbling a hasty response to James in his own cursive handwriting. Almost as soon as the white winged owl gives him a friendly nip and then soars off into the night, two more take her place, fighting for room on the windowsill. One of them is a clearly exhausted brown owl who fights the somewhat scary looking screech owl out of the window and collapses on Sirius’s floor. 

“Wow, someone needs a good rest.” Comes Regulus’s voice as he shuts the door behind him. “You’re popular tonight.” He comments as Sirius takes the letter from the screech owl, who flies away without waiting, and then squats down to examine the barely conscious brown one on his floor. 

“It seems so.” Sirius responds, poking at the owl. “Would you get Irma’s water and some food? I dunno if this one can make it home.” Regulus obeys, finding the Black family owl’s cage to bring up her water and hopefully a mouse or two from her ornate gade. Sirius sits on the floor next to the poor owl and reads the first letter, which is from Peter.

_ Hello Sirius! _

_ James told me that you would be coming to the party on New Years, which is so exciting! I hope you’ve had a good Christmas!  _

_ See you tonight, it’ll be loads of fun. _

_ Peter _

Sirius feels a foreign rush of affection for his friend, although his letter is more of a customary well wishing Christmas one, and folds it up neatly, as he did with James’s, and tucks it into his schoolbag. As he unfolds the note from the brown owl, Regulus reappears, looking rather flustered.

“What’s up?” Sirius asks as his brother drops a dead mouse onto the floor in front of the owl and sets down a small bowl of water.

“Mum’s trying to get me to try on all sorts of old dress robes, but I won’t have it.”

“Aww, that sounds like fun! I think you’d look smart in the bright green ones, don’t you?”

“Ha ha.” Regulus says sarcastically. There’s an infamous set of acid green dress robes that Walburga had made specifically for a young Sirius when he was forced into attending the wedding of a family friend. “Is the owl okay?” He asks, sitting down on his bed and watching as the owl slowly starts to drink some water.

“I suppose. He can stay with Irma, I guess, if he can’t make it home. Her cage is huge.” Irma’s cage was another of Walburga’s projects, and is a grand piece of metalwork. The thing is the size of a desk and sits in the lounge on its own table, with Irma leering from it menacingly. Orion lets her out at night to fly around and hunt, but she’s confined to her roomy cage for most of the day. Regulus silently agrees with his brother and watches in disgust as the owl scarfs down the mouse whole, like a snake would. 

While waiting to see if the owl feels better, Sirius slides open the next envelope to see a longer letter, in familiar cramped handwriting

_ Dear Sirius, _

_ I’m so glad to know you’ll be able to make it to James’s party. There’s a highlight for break, right? How was your Christmas? What was your best gift? My dad got me a record from this band Led Zeppelin, which is really good. They’re sort of heavy metal, I think you’d enjoy them.  _

_ To be honest, I’ve been rather bored and lonely. My parents seem to have been fighting so they’re barely talking, which makes it very quiet here. I’ve gotten lots of reading done, though. I hope your family has been okay. I’ll see you in a few days, then! _

_ Remus _

Sirius notices that Remus never ends his letters with any sort of goodbyes. Just his name, like he doesn’t know what else to say. There’s no post date on the card, but Sirius assumes that it has to be from a few days ago judging by Remus’s writing. He feels even worse for the owl, who must’ve had an exhausting flight down from northern Wales. 

“Those from your friends?” Regulus asks from his bed. Sirius glances up at him in surprise. 

“Er… yeah. One from Pete, and one from Remus.” Sirius had told Regulus all about his friends, who seems fascinated by the whole new world that Hogwarts consists of. 

“Have fun at the party.” Regulus mutters sullenly, and Sirius tuts at him. 

“Don’t be jealous, you’re the celebrated Black son! I bet you can hardly  _ wait  _ to be interviewed by every family friend we have.”

“Sure, it’ll be excellent.” Regulus says with an eye roll. Sirius understands his brother’s jealousy but is too excited for the party to be able to pretend to feel bad. Regulus had been expecting some form of comfort by having his brother around during an insufferable family party, and had been both shocked and betrayed when his mother had given Sirius permission to go to the Potters’. Sirius offers to play a game of cards to make time pass a little faster and Regulus gives in, unable to hold petty grudges against his brother. 

They play until Regulus gets fed up with losing and suggests they take a walk around the block. Sirius feels restless with excitement and gives in. It’s miserably cold outside, with thin rain drizzling down in sheets. Sirius hates drab weather and complains for the entire walk, making Regulus wonder why he even suggested it in the first place. Back inside the house, Sirius finds ways to pass the time until finally, it’s time to leave.

There’s no activity more glorious for Sirius than descending the stairs after winning an argument with his mother. He walks down the stairs very slowly, taking every step with decorated exaggeration, and finally steps down to the floor while his mother watches with hateful eyes. He must admit, the house looks fantastic- glittering and alive with magical decorations and activity. 

“Looks lovely, mum. I’m off to the Potters.” Sirius is holding the Lupins’ pathetic brown owl, hoping to return it to them at the party since he would feel too worried about sending it back to Wales. It seems to do better with short-term flying.

“Thank you.” Walburga says in an icy voice, ignoring the presence of the owl. She doesn’t move as Sirius strides past her into the drawing room. There’s a jar of greenish grey floo powder on the mantle of the hearth and she watches as her dark haired son takes a handful and ducks into the fireplace. “Enjoy your evening.” Sirius is surprised at her kindness, and inclines his head gently, smiling warmly at her. 

“And yours.” He responds before throwing the powder at his feet and clearly enunciating the address of the Potters. He disappears in a flash of green fire.

**j**

James hears Sirius arrive when his mother screams out loud. 

“Christ, what a fright you gave me!” Euphemia shouts, and James runs down the stairs to see his friend standing in the lounge room looking sheepish, dusting powder off of himself. 

“Sorry, am I early?” Sirius asks cluelessly. He’s holding an absolutely possessed looking owl, and James isn’t sure that animals are even supposed to be taken through the floo network. 

“Most wizards consider being fashionably late the best way to arrive.” Euphemia explains as James jumps down the rest of the stairs, presenting himself dramatically to Sirius, who gives him a familiar bright, wicked grin. The Sirius Black grin. 

“Mum, this is Sirius. Sirius Black.” Euphemia straightens up and eyes the black haired boy standing in her fireplace. She’s heard of the Black family, most everyone in the wizarding world has, and had been wondering for a while how they took the news of their eldest son being sorted into Gryffindor. The boy standing in front of her has pale skin and long black hair, looking like a perfect mix of his parents. Despite his youth, his face is thin and rather drawn, but his eyes flicker with warmth and familiar immaturity. 

“Nice to meet you, Sirius.” Mrs. Potter says, shaking his outstretched hand. Like Walburga, she doesn’t ask about the owl, not wanting to know the story behind the bird. James and Sirius take their leave of the living room, where the Potters are preparing for their guests to start arriving, although Mrs. Potter takes care to remind James that he’ll have to be around to be introduced to the attendees of the party. 

“Of course, mum, I’ll win them all over.” James says in his deliciously appealing voice that makes his mum smile with warmth. Sirius can already tell how well James and his parents get on, but pushes the familiar feeling of jealousy away. It won’t help him to be feeling bad about things he doesn’t have tonight, especially since he’ll be spending the whole night in James’s huge house. Sirius gets a tour of the whole place, and is completely lost by the end of it.

“This place needs a map as much as Hogwarts does!” He exclaims by the time they finally return to the living room, where plenty of wizards have arrived. 

“Doesn’t your family have a nice place? You’re the Blacks, after all?” Sirius flushes unpleasantly at this. He’s always wondered why they live in such a nasty little house when it’s clear that their family is flush with money. 

“Nah, my dad is modest.” Is all he can think up to say. James isn’t really listening anyways, he keeps getting dragged off by his parents to meet family friends while Sirius attempts to socialize with others at the party while he’s alone. The Prewett twins are there, to his delight, along with their older sister Molly, who has bright ginger hair just like her brothers. She had graduated Hogwarts two years ago and is chatting up a young man who, according to Fabian, is a member of the Weasley family. The Weasleys have been mentioned a few times in the Black household, fabled as blood traitors, which makes Sirius admire them even more. 

The house gets rather crowded and Sirius loses James for a while, making his own circles and getting to know people. Sirius knows the crowd that his own family runs with: the Malfoys, Lestranges, Crouches, Carrows, and others. Pure bloods, but the ones who are too proud of it. The sacred twenty eight, these families are called, of pure blooded wizards who have continued to keep their blood pure throughout generations. The Weasleys are part of them, and the Longbottoms, but Sirius knows their families to be kinder and more tolerant. He wishes every day that he weren’t a Black.

Peter arrives at some point, but Sirius only spots him because he’s hanging out by the door in hopes that Remus will open it sometime soon, but he hasn’t. Pete’s family is tall and blonde. His parents greet Sirius kindly and his two older sisters both call him adorable and proceed to discussing him as though he’s not standing right there. Pete also has a sister who’s a year younger, named Jasmine, who looks terrified and clutches on to him as he starts chatting with Sirius. 

“How’s your break been? Good?”

“Great, yeah.” Sirius replies. His face is red with excitement. Peter isn’t too fond of talking to strangers, most eleven year olds aren’t, and he wonders why Sirius has been hanging about with all these people much older than him.

“Is James around?” Peter asks. The house is very large but also very crowded, and Peter stands on his tiptoes to peer around, though his efforts are in vain as Sirius shrugs curiously. 

“No clue where he is, probably greeting your family right now, honestly.” Sirius has a barking laugh that always startles Peter a bit. “He’s a great host. Go on, see if you can find him.” It’s a way to dismiss Peter, who doesn’t realize he’s unwanted, and he starts off into the throng of wizards, his young sister in tow. 

James sees his friend’s round, worried face paralleled in his younger sister’s as the pair of them come upon him in the kitchen, where he’s drinking wine and talking to a tall, grizzled looking man with dark and intense eyes.

“Hello, Pete! When did you get here? This is Mr. Moody, he’s an auror. This is Peter Pettigrew.” James makes the introduction and Moody shakes Peter’s hand hard. 

“Hey, James. Hello.” Peter says, making very wavering eye contact with Moody. “This is Jasmine, my sister, she’s a year younger.” Jasmine squeaks out a hello. 

“Good to meet you Peter, Jasmine.” Moody says in a gruff voice. “Enjoy the night, kids.” James is glad to see the older man leave, he scares him half to death, and starts chattering with Peter. The three of them revolve back towards the door where they find Sirius and Remus talking amiably together. 

“Remus!” James cheers, glad to see all of his friends together again. “How are you?”

“Good!” Remus says back, his voice loud and cheerful, his face bright. There’s a new scar fresh on his face that contrasts his smile. It starts low on his cheek and extends down his jaw. James sees Jasmine stare up at the boy, eyes wandering up and down his scars. “There’s so many people here, wow! My family’s never had this many people over.”

“Are your parents here?” James asks, glancing around.

“Yeah, they went to go socialize.” Remus scans the room but gives up on finding his parents, shrugging. “Pete, is this your sister?” Jasmine seems to be the elephant in their group, and seems to be hating having to be introduced by her older brother. 

“Yeah, this is Jasmine. Jas, do you maybe want to go find Arina? You can hang out with her and her girlfriends, maybe?” Peter suggests, and his blonde haired little sister understands that this is a command, not a suggestion. 

“If you like.” She says slowly, glancing around the room. Peter gives her a little shove and she jumps, punching him softly. “Shove off, Pete. Nice meeting you.” She says specifically to Remus, blushes a bit, and then disappears into the crowd. 

“Wow.” James announces, briefly watching her go before he turns back to his friends. “Think she fancies you, Remus?” Remus turns his usual shade of pink and James laughs, punching him jokingly on the arm. Remus flinches, though James doesn’t notice, and continues his role as host of the party, enjoying himself a little too much. “Want some wine? Or champagne? No one’s keeping an eye on the drinks…” The boys all each drink a glass of champagne, hidden in ceramic mugs so no one gives them any crap for it, and hang out giggling in the kitchen until midnight arrives.

The party moves outside, then, with people pulling on their robes as they exit into the Potters’ backyard. The night is cold and the grass crunches with frost. James himself is surprised by the size of the crowd, having underestimated his parents’ sociability. One of the Weasleys had offered to put on the fireworks display for the night, and James rubs his hands together in anticipation. Remus seems clueless about the whole thing, he’s honestly at the same knowledge level as a muggle born, sometimes, and whispers to Sirius with questions about what they’re doing to celebrate.

“You know, the muggles drop a ball on New Years’, in New York City.” Remus says, his breath foggy white in the cold air.

“A ball?” Peter asks, frowning. “What?” James is just as confused.

“A big, huge, disco ball. Massive and shiny. They display it and everything, and people gather, and they count down until the new year and they drop it and people go crazy. It’s a place called Times Square. I’ve seen photos, it’s this huge, massive part of New York. There’s ads everywhere, posted all up and down the skyscrapers, and there’s so many bright lights at night. It’s insane.” Sirius seems enthralled by Remus’s tales of America, but James is too excited about the magical fireworks they’re about to see. 

Someone has started a countdown and everyone else has picked up on it, chanting the numbers louder and louder and James is the first of the marauders to join in, giddy with excitement.

“Seven, six, five, four…” The rest of the boys have started shouting along and the garden is rowdy with activity, the sound of voices carrying and blurring together, “three... two... ONE!” All at once, the fireworks go off in a dazzling display of colors, popping and banging in the air. The letters “1972” glitter in the air and then turn into what looks like moving fire, curling and twisting in the air before exploding into red, orange, and pink bouquets of glittering roses. The Weasley artist had truly outdone themselves, and James is stunned into silence as the sky is filled with moving, magical fireworks that are deafening and leave him breathless, so excited for the new year and what it’ll bring.

People around them are kissing, cheering, jumping, oohing and awing at the display. Sirius is laughing loudly and wraps his arm around James- the other one around Remus’s shoulders. 

“Happy new year, lads!” He shouts, squishing the three of them together. The grin on his face is so big and bright that James feels like he can’t get enough of it, of being surrounded by friends and family, celebrating, innocent; happy. 


	13. [YR 1] Raise Your Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an announcement to make!! i don't give a shit and i do not care: i fucking hate peter pettigrew. i despise this little bitch. i understand that he wasn't evil as a kid and was, in fact, an essential part of the marauders but you know what? fuck him. truly not sorry that he's barely characterized in this story bc i just hate him so much. fuck peter! all my homies hate peter.
> 
> (lyrics from living room song by the wonder years)

**_1972_ **

_ this week is gonna swallow me, but when it spits me out, i’m landing on my feet _

**r**

Returning to Hogwarts is a welcome transition from the awful, quiet grey of Christmas break, and Remus is once again thrown into the busy atmosphere that school brings. He enjoys classes and academics, he really does, and finds no excuses to bunk off lessons or leave his homework until the last minute. There’s an odd sort of passion that overtakes him when it comes to learning, and he makes the best of it, performing top in most of his classes- only really falling behind in Potions, which he’s generally rubbish at.

Lily Evans, though, is a Potions genius and although Remus had tried to work with her at the beginning of the year, after winter break, she had been partial to spending the classes with Severus as her partner. Remus, not usually a jealous type, knows about Lily and Severus’s childhood friendship and hadn’t taken the switch in partners personally. He instead works with Peter, who is surprisingly competent at Potions, and the two of them scrape by in the class while Sirius and James essentially move closer to failing it. Still, the distance that Lily had created by being chummy with Severus hadn’t gone unnoticed by any of the Gryffindors in the friend group, and they discuss it late on a Wednesday night in mid January.

Snow falls heavily outside the window. Remus is perched on the sill, half involved in the conversation, dreading the frozen Astronomy class that would be taking place in a half hour. Despite the chilling winter weather, neither of the teachers with outdoor lessons had even seemed to consider taking the class indoors, or finding some other way to do lessons without outside activity. Astronomy is bad enough, being out at midnight in the snow and ice with hands numb from holding the telescope but Remus finds flying practice to be even worse. Madam Hooch has them out on the pitch rain or shine, which is understandable when it comes to a Quidditch team, but he doesn’t see the point in making the whole class do it.

Oh, well. 

Lily isn’t in the common room tonight, she had to go meet with Professor Slughorn, the Potions master, and although it’s 11:30, she’s either still there or using that as an excuse for her not being at their usual hangout. Mary is also missing, and Remus secretly thinks that she and Lily must have something important to do, but Marlene joins them, at least. Personally, Remus is sometimes grateful for a feminine perspective in the marauders’ conversations. James and Sirius are all about hatching elaborate and dangerous plans, most of which Remus disapproves of, but doesn’t have the guts to tell them. Marlene, however, has no problem in putting down their ideas and providing a voice of reason that Remus is too nervous to use.

Tonight, they’re plotting against Severus. That night at dinner, everyone, including Remus, had been shocked when greasy haired Severus Snape had sat down next to Lily at the Gryffindor table, looking downright ashamed of himself. He hadn’t spoken to anyone but Lily for the entire meal, despite Sirius and James’s taunts, and had left quickly, despite Lily’s pleas for him to stay. 

“He’s just having trouble, is all.” Lily had told Remus privately, after dinner before she left to go finish her potion. “He’s a bit awkward, you know, and he’s not so good at making friends. I’ve known him since I was little, I only thought it was right.” Truthfully, she had been a bit too defensive about the whole situation, because Remus hadn’t found anything wrong with it. Lily’s kindness is overwhelming at times, and he’s glad that she’s trying to help Severus, despite his own personal distaste for the boy. Severus isn’t a pleasant person- not to Remus, at least, but as a pacifist, Remus thinks that kindness would help him be nicer rather than bullying.

Sirius and James don’t seem to agree.

“That slimy git had some nerve, sitting with us!” Sirius declares. “Should’ve washed the bench after he sat at it, the greasy slime.”

“I’ve never understood why Evans adores him so much, he’s awful to every muggleborn except for her, she should know better.” James scolds, and Remus shares a worried look with Peter and Marlene. 

“Why do you hate him so? He’s unpleasant, given, but he’s not the worst.” Marlene offers sensibly and Remus sighs in relief, looking back out the window as fluffy, fat flakes continue to fall outside. 

“Did you hear what he said to Remus in Potions?” James demands heroically, defending his friend. Remus feels his face heating up and keeps his eyes out the window, determined to pretend as though he’s lost in thought and not listening. 

“No…?” Marlene replies, looking up at Remus, who studiously ignores her, though now he’s considering chiming in.

“He said-”

“I looked like a zebra, with all these stripes. I would fit perfectly in a zoo.” Remus interrupts, finally, turning around to face the rest of his friends. He gestures lamely at his scarred face to get the point across and Marlene’s blue eyes fill with worry. With pity. 

“Well, that  _ is  _ awful-”

“It’s not, though, it’s fine. I’m not angry with him.” Remus says, truthfully. They’re first years, he has obvious scars on his face, someone is bound to make fun of him. It’s only natural. “You two don’t need to wage war against him over me. He hasn’t done anything to you.” This is directed at James and Sirius, who look immediately affronted.

“Well you’re our  _ friend,  _ Remus, we want to defend you!” Sirius exclaims.

“I don’t need to be defended.” Remus responds quietly. He’s at a bit of a distance from them, sitting cross legged up on the windowsill, while the rest of them are lounging about on the carpeted floor.

“Come on,” James puts in. “I’m quite good at Transfiguration, we could turn him into a frog? Frog prince, for Evans?”

“Or a slug?” Sirius offers, grinning. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Marlene scoffs, knowing full well that they aren’t anywhere near capable of magic that advanced. 

“Hm… maybe a weasel, or a little rat- something fitting. A naked mole rat?” James flashes back quickly. Him and Sirius are both fast when it comes to words and have amazing humor- always able to keep up with each other. 

“Have you lot heard of the blobfish?” Sirius rebuts, finally getting Remus to crack a smile, imagining Severus transfigured into a slimy, disgusting blobfish. The thought alone gets him to laugh and the other boys do too, happy to have Remus back on their side, so to say. The full moon is at the end of the month and Remus finds himself more nervous than usual, hoping he doesn’t end up with any more bad scars, like the new one on his face. 

The night after the moon at home, his mum had seen the new gash on his face and cried. It had made Remus badly self conscious, and he knows that everyone else at school had noticed too, but no one except Severus had said anything about it. He listens to James and Sirius continue to joke while Marlene helps Peter with his homework, looking over his diagram of a mandrake. Everything is taking place ordinarily, and Remus feels content to sit back in the windowsill and look over at his friends, at his home.

**s**

Everything has changed in regards to the marauder’s pranks. This is because James had been given the best gift out of everyone for Christmas, even better than Remus’s Led Zeppelin record. To put it simply- he had been given an invisibility cloak.

Sirius hadn’t been able to handle himself when James first showed it to him. It had been the night of the New Years party, and the boys had been up in James’s bedroom, sitting on his wide bed while James told them seriously about how this was a family heirloom and had to be treated right and all sorts of crap that Sirius didn’t care to hear before he finally opened his trunk and pulled out the silvery cape. It has a watery, odd texture that Sirius still hasn’t gotten used to, but all three boys had stared at it starry eyed- obsessed.

Sirius didn’t know what Peter or Remus had planned for it, what ideas first came to mind at the sight of the cloak, but Sirius was overtaken by the power that the cloak held.

“We can do  _ anything  _ with this.” Sirius had breathed, taking the cloak gently from James, who watched him closely. “We can go anywhere at night, even Hogsmeade, if we want!” Remus had been the voice of reason, as always, suggesting that they should be careful with it and for once, James had agreed.

“It’s my granddad’s, or my  _ great  _ granddad’s, come to think of it. Or my great, great- I dunno, but it’s important. I can’t get it confiscated.” So they hadn’t used it around the school yet, due to James’s overwhelming worry of Argus Filch, the caretaker, finding them and confiscating it. 

“Rumor has it, he’s got an entire cabinet of things he’s stolen from students.” James had said over dinner one night when Sirius suggested flooding the Hufflepuff common room which is located down in the basements. 

“Is he allowed to do that?” Remus had asked, staring up at Filch with a curious expression on his face.

“He can do whatever he wants.” Peter grumbles unhappily. He and Sirius had served detentions that week for poor uniform, and had been ordered to polish silverware in the sweltering hot kitchens for three hours without use of magic. “Useless squib.” He continued, following Remus’s eyes to glare at the caretaker. 

So Sirius had left it alone, not wanting to breach James’s privacy by taking the cloak without his permission. Besides, he has a prank to plan, and spends Friday afternoon in the library with Remus and Peter while James is at Quidditch practice. It’s cold and grey outside so Sirius is enjoying the warmth of the library, wondering if he’ll have to brave the miserable weather next year if he bites the bullet and tries out for the Quidditch team. 

“Okay, lads, I have an idea.” Sirius introduces, rubbing his hands together. Remus and Peter look at him expectantly, and he gets started. “I think we need to put Severus in his place, don’t you?” Peter nods eagerly but Remus still looks a little hesitant, tilting his head and scratching at his hair. “So we all know he fancies Lily, right? And guess what holiday is coming up?” Remus and Peter exchange an exasperated look. 

“Marlene’s birthday?” Remus asks stupidly.

“Valentines' Day?” Peter says over him, and Sirius claps his hands together.

“Bingo!” Sirius ignores Remus, who blushes at his own dumb answer, pretending he hadn’t said it at all. “A lovely day for the wonderful St. Valentine. I’m thinking we leave Snape a little gift, from “Lily”. A little card declaring her love for him or something, I dunno, we can ask the girls, but I’ve been thinking of leaving him some chocolates.” Sirius isn’t finished, he’s just paused for emphasis, but Remus interrupts him regardless.

“Wow, Sirius, that’s kind of you, it is. Are you sure it’s not you who fancies him?”

“Let me finish! We can add potions to these chocolates. And there’s some nasty stuff in here.” Sirius continues, tapping the cover of Advanced Potion Making, which had had taken out from the library. It’s the first book he’s ever taken out to actually spend time reading. “How does that sound?” 

“It’s a great idea, Sirius.” Peter is quick to reply, but Sirius knows he’d be on board. The black haired boy stares intently at Remus, who is clearly musing over his own response to make Sirius edgy. Sirius needs Remus’s help due to his own ineptness at Potions, and smiles when Remus finally shrugs and nods, giving in.

“I suppose it’s alright.”

“Alright, let’s come up with some ones we can use on him.” Sirius flips open his own book while Remus and Peter get their own, taking down notes on potions. They spend quite a while like that, staying up in the library almost until dinnertime. “What’ve you come up with?” Sirius asks his friends, looking over his own notes on potions far too complicated for his own abilities.

“Fungiface.” Remus says promptly, showing a page in his book to Sirius. “His face’ll break out in mushrooms, it’ll be a right laugh.”

“Excellent. Peter?”

“Pompion potion? It’ll turn his head into a pumpkin. I’m sure James can work it out, he’s good at Transfiguration.”

“Right you are.” Sirius responds, feeling giddy with excitement. “I think we should do a hate potion, too. Assorted chocolates with assorted potions. Look, it says here that a hate potion reveals the worst habits of the drinker of the potion.”

“No, you’ve got it backwards.” Remus says with a frown, leaning over the textbook. “See, let’s say you gave the potion to Lily- she’d see Snape’s worst traits. I don’t want to do that to her, it’s of her own accord.” Neither Peter or Sirius reply to that, and Remus looks closely at both of them before closing his book. “We don’t need to do that one, necessarily. How do you feel about laxatives, though?” 

**j**

When James is informed of the prank that his friends had planned, he’s both shocked and impressed by their research and the information gathered. 

“Blimey, you three are ruthless.” He says when they tell him that night in their dormitory. James is sat at the end of his bed with Sirius across from him, on top of his own bed. Remus is on the floor minding the record player, and Peter is across from him, looking over their potions notes. Shelby, the third year keeper for Gryffindor, had put James onto chewing gum, and he’s chewing a bright blue wad of Drooble’s Blowing Gum rather noisily, blowing bubbles the size of his face every few minutes. “So we’re doing two different potions? The fungus one and the mushroom one?” He asks, scratching his untidy hair.

“And Remus wants to add some muggle laxatives.” Sirius adds. James screws up his face, looking at the golden haired boy. 

“Ew, that’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?”

“We’re going to turn his head into a  _ pumpkin,  _ I don’t think having the runs is nearly as bad.” Remus quips and the other boys laugh in agreement. “James, you’re good with Transfiguration, d’you think you could work on the pompion potion? You and Sirius work on that, and Pete and I can figure out the fungiface one?” 

Both Peter and Remus are decently good at Herbology and have a fine grip on what the potion consists of, while James is sure that he can figure out the pompion one. It’s at a second year level for potion making, so not too far out of his range. He’s not sure about the fungiface one but is confident that Remus can figure out how to make it. The four boys set to finding recipes for the potions, and James sets them to regroup on Tuesday evening to discuss their plan moving forward.

Time seems to move faster when there’s a prank to carry out, and James works hard in classes, at Quidditch, and spends time planning how he’s supposed to acquire his ingredients. For the pompion potion, he can get pumpkin juice from the dining hall and nick foxglove from Professor Slughorn’s stores, but is having a bit more trouble with the bouncing bulbs and flitterby moths. He brings up these setbacks at their library meeting after dinner on Tuesday. The boys occupy a small table in the corner of the library and go relatively unnoticed- just a few first years catching up on their homework.

“So the pumpkin juice is easy, and I can steal the foxglove from Slughorn.” James tells the rest of the marauders. 

“You should use the cloak!” Sirius exclaims with excitement. James knows that he’s been itching to use his cloak for a prank as soon as he got his eyes on it, and James feels unnecessarily defensive about the invisibility cloak, wanting nothing less than getting caught and having the thing confiscated. His dad would never forgive him.

“We’ll see, but Evans might be able to nick it for me if I ask her nicely. She's Slughorn's favorite.” Sirius’s face falls, but James continues. “We’ll need a bouncing bulb, which the sixth years work with in Herbology. They’re sentient, and bounce about everywhere so it’s going to be a right nightmare getting one of them.”

“You have Quidditch mates in sixth year, right?” Peter asks innocently. James hates being used as a member of the team to get through to older students, but he knows Peter is right. Still, he respects Yetta for saving his arse in their matches and being a responsible and competent leader. She’ll be captain of the team next year, with Austin gone, and James swallows a lump in his throat, knowing that he has no other choice but to either ask her to nick him one, or sneak into the greenhouse himself to get the bulb himself.

“I do, her name’s Yetta, but I don’t think she’d want to help.” James responds quietly, deep in thought. “Well, I guess we’ll see what happens with the bulbs. Then we need some flitterby moths.” He doesn’t have to explain that one and Sirius groans, knowing the tedious nature of catching them. “We could ask Hagrid, I know he has some, and they’re probably in a contained location…”

“But free.” Sirius finishes for him, and James sighs loudly.

“I’ve seen them on the grounds down by the Forbidden Forest, so some day, we should just go down there and get it over with.”

“What are you talking about?” Remus asks cluelessly.

“Catching them is a real chore.” Sirius explains. “They’re as fast as a snitch, so it’s best to get them on a broom. It’ll take a while.” 

“Oh.” Remus looks regretful but doesn’t impart his sympathy, and obviously doesn’t offer his own assistance at catching them. 

“Well, that’s all.” James finishes, pushing his notes to the middle of the table and sitting back in his chair. Peter looks expectantly at Remus, who clears his throat importantly before speaking. 

“For ours, we’ll need loads of mushrooms, but we can get those from the kitchens no problem. Er, then we’ll need toad’s tongue, octopus powder, dragon’s blood, and… er…. green acid.” His voice reaches lower and lower decibels until the last ingredient, and James stares at him in disbelief.

“Acid?”

“Dragon’s blood?” Sirius demands, blindsided. “Are you sure this potion isn’t too hard for you?”

“I’m sure!” Remus says, surprisingly defiant. “He wants to make a fuss about my face, I’ll show him what it’s like to have everyone staring at him. Christ.” No one challenges him at that and he looks back down at the list of ingredients. “James, I know the cloak is important to you, but it would be massively helpful to get into Slughorn’s stores…” Remus turns his warm brown eyes on James, who feels fidgety at being pestered about something that he’s otherwise taken a no-nonsense stance on. 

“Okay.” He mumbles, rubbing his chin with his hand, and taking another look at Remus. The boy can make intense eye contact when he wants to, and James adjusts his glasses, looking away. “Okay, but it’ll have to be only me and Remus.”

“What?” Sirius demands.

“Sirius, you’re- no offense, but you’re too  _ loud! _ We need to be discreet.”

“Discreet? You’re one to talk!”

“It’s _ my  _ cloak!”

“Lads!” Remus hisses, smacking James gently on the shoulder. Madam Pince, the librarian, is hovering dangerously close to their table. “Keep your voices down, come on. Can Sirius use the cloak to get into the greenhouses with Pete? Does that work?” James has calmed down, realizing how silly their fight is, but Sirius has crossed his arms and looks standoffish. How childish, starting a fight about getting to use the invisibility cloak. 

“That’s fine with me.” Peter says hastily, giving Sirius a knowing look.

“Alright.” Sirius grumbles. 

“Alright!” James echoes with a little more enthusiasm. “Remus, there’s Quidditch this weekend, but it’s Ravenclaw and Slytherin, do you reckon we should do it during the match? Slughorn will be there, as he’s head of house, so we’ll be in the clear.”

“Great, good.” Remus replies quickly. “Saturday, then?” James nods and feels a familiar rush of mischievous excitement. 

“Saturday.” 


	14. [YR 1] Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "saturday" by fall out boy

_ i’m good to go, and i’m going nowhere fast _

_ it could be worse, i could be taking you there with me _

**r**

Saturday morning dawns crisp and cold. Remus, who overheats easily, has taken to leaving the window by his bed open overnight, and finds himself surprised to wake up actually wrapped in his own blankets, which he usually throws off during the night. Peter and James are already awake, he can hear them talking, but he lays in bed a little longer, loving the feeling of actually  _ wanting  _ to be warm. He feels safe in his four poster bed with the heavy crimson curtains drawn around it, and relaxes on the soft mattress, hearing the quiet voices of his friends outside. 

The full moon is tonight, and Remus has been working on keeping his temper and restless energy in check. He focuses instead on the warmth of his bed. On the comfort. Hogwarts has become familiar to him, his new home, and he’s been raised moving around, hardly living in one place for more than a few years. Northern Wales had stuck, for some reason, and Remus had lived there for three straight years before the letter to Hogwarts came, but despite the few muggle friends he had made, he had still been so lonely.

And now he’s wanted. It makes all the difference. 

Remus pulls back the thick curtains from around his bed and sees James and Peter both dressed and about to go down for breakfast. 

“Morning, Remus!” James says in his cheerful voice, smiling brightly. Remus wonders how he’s always so bright and fresh in the mornings, like he doesn’t even get tired. There’s a certain level of optimistic drive to James Potter that Remus has always admired, and enjoys more than he’d ever care to admit.

“Morning.” Remus says sleepily, rubbing at his untidy hair. “Are you two going down for breakfast?”

“Yeah, do you want us to wait?” 

“Nah.” Remus mumbles, stretching widely and hearing his joints crack in a satisfying way. “I’ll meet you down there.” 

“Sounds good.” James replies, and Remus hears them clatter down the stairs before he finally gets out of bed and looks around at the assorted mess on the floor, trying to mentally pick out something to wear. There’s so many piles of robes and clothes that he can’t pick out something to piece together in an outfit, so he sits down on the floor and starts sorting through the clothes, trying to tidy up a bit. The dorm is chilly but Remus only considers closing the window for a moment. He’s always hot but still wears jumpers and long sleeves to cover up his scars, so he’d rather brave the cold in his pajama vest than end up a sweaty mess at breakfast. 

“Christ, it’s freezing in here!” Comes a familiar voice from Sirius’s bed, and Remus watches as he dramatically flings back his curtains to give Remus an incredulous look. “Did you leave the window open all night?”

“Sorry.” Remus apologizes, not meaning it, and turns back to his piles that look only marginally neater. “I get hot.”

“I’m always cold.” Sirius grumbles. He’s dreadful in the mornings and storms into the bathroom but leaves the door open, walking back into the dorm room while he brushes his teeth and talks to Remus at the same time. “You and James are robbing Slughorn today?” He asks as he wanders over towards the window by Remus’s bed, taking care to not step on the miscellaneous objects scattered about the floor. 

“Yeah.” Remus responds, finally finding his favorite jumper. It’s orange and high necked, with brown and crimson stripes, and it reminds him of autumn and all the good things about it: colder weather, beautiful scenery, pumpkins, apple cider; Halloween. Halloween is always good. Remus hugs the jumper close to him as a cold breeze sweeps through the dorm and the hair on his bare arms stands up. “We shouldn’t call it robbing though, that makes it sound… illegal.”

“I mean, it technically is.” Sirius doesn’t comfort him and Remus watches him illuminated in the early morning light, his skin so pale that it almost shines- his messy black hair providing a sharp contrast. There’s toothpaste foam building up in his mouth and he drops some onto the floor by Remus’s bed as he wanders back towards the bathroom. “You two’ll be fine though.” He slurs as he spits into the sink, gargling loudly and spitting again, making a big show out of brushing his teeth. Still, he’s Sirius Black. Only a Black could make something so simple such a big deal. 

“Are you going to the match?” Remus asks as he pulls the jumper over his head, too lazy to change out of his sleeveless pyjama shirt. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It’s fun to watch, I’m rooting for Ravenclaw.” Remus snorts as he changes into a pair of jeans and moves into the bathroom where Sirius is staring at himself in the mirror. Remus, the taller of the two, stands behind him and fixes his hair with his hands while Sirius brushes his own- his black locks glossy and sleek. 

“Have fun, I guess. Is anyone coming with you?”

“Peter and Evans. Her birthday’s  _ tomorrow,  _ Mary told me yesterday, and I’ve got nothing to give her. What do girls like?” Sirius makes eye contact with Remus through the mirror, and he blushes at the mere sight of looking into his friend’s eyes. Remus looks away, face pink, and leaves the bathroom without bothering to fix his messy hair.

“I dunno… flowers? Jewlery?”

“I s’pose.” Sirius follows him out of the bathroom. He wears green and black flannel pyjama pants and a black t-shirt to sleep in. “Are you headed down to breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Remus responds, thinking about how good Sirius looks in Slytherin colors, despite being sorted into Gryffindor. The dark shades suit him. “You’re gonna shower?” 

“Mhm.” Sirius nods. “I’ll go down to the pitch once I’m done. Good luck with James!”

“Thanks.” Remus feels hot at the idea of sneaking into Slughorn’s stores, but puts on his brave face, headed towards the stairs. “We’ll need it.” He says as his parting words, and is both relieved and embarrassed to hear Sirius call down the stairs after him-

“No, you won’t!” Remus has researched a potion called Felix Felicis, otherwise known as liquid luck, that Slughorn makes the sixth years brew, and then lets them drink. It sounds mental. Remus wishes he had some at the moment, and briefly wonders if Slughorn keeps any in the locked room that he and James will be raiding. The Great Hall is bustling with activity on that Saturday morning, with the Slytherin and Ravenclaw Quidditch teams generating loud conversations. No one notices Remus as he slips into the hall and heads towards the Gryffindor table. James is eating with Peter and Lily.

“Good morning, Remus!” Lily says with enough bright energy to rival James. 

“Hiya.” Remus responds, sitting down next to her. “Marlene and Mary having a lie in?”

“Yup.” Lily responds, popping the “p”. “No school spirit.” 

“Don’t blame them.” 

“Why are you up early?” She asks with innocent interest, crunching her toast loudly. Remus spills orange juice into his cereal bowl and swears as Peter laughs at him. 

“No reason.” Remus says quickly, not meeting her eyes and making a weak attempt to dry off his toast. “Me and James were going to study the mandrakes, to work on that assignment.” He lies badly, and starts eating so he doesn’t have to talk anymore. Lily isn’t really listening, though, and takes his story without a second thought. Her and Peter finish eating quickly, and pull on their winter cloaks before heading out to the freezing pitch, which leaves James and Remus sitting nervously, ready to get to work.

**s**

Sirius doesn’t know why he’s going to the Quidditch match. Maybe he’ll feel too lazy for lying in all day if he doesn’t, or maybe he just feels bitter because James and Remus are going on an expedition without him, which isn’t fair. Yes, James is letting him use the cloak to raid the greenhouses with Peter that night, but it’s more fun to do it all together. They’re marauders, right?

He dresses slowly. Sirius is bad in the mornings and takes a while to wake up. He had planned on charming his scarf into the Ravenclaw colors but is too sleepy to do proper magic and only gets the blue, but the Gryffindor bright yellow looks enough like their house color of bronze, and he supposes that it’s the best he can get. He wanders down to the common room, which is pretty much deserted, and steels himself before climbing through the portrait hole and making his way to the west wing of the lower floor.

The lower floor is a rush of activity, bustling with Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike headed out to the pitch, with some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs mixed in. Nearly everyone turns out for Quidditch matches, as there’s so few official house ones during the year, and Sirius wonders if James regrets the decision to miss this one- seeing as he won’t be able to study the flying techniques of the team. But still, that’s a Quidditch captain’s job, and although James is dedicated, he seems to forget that he’s only a first year.

Lost in thought and looking vaguely around for Lily or Peter, Sirius is surprised when none other than James Potter appears in front of him, looking breathlessly excited.

“Alright, James?” Sirius asks, moving to the side of the hallway so older students don’t get pushy and step on him. Remus is hovering behind James in that low-key, mysterious way that he’s so good at. 

“I’m sorry for being a prat.” James starts, speaking quickly. “And leaving you out, I’m just paranoid, but it’s not right.”

“No.” Sirius brushes his long hair out of his eyes and looks at messy, excitable James, who seems to have something to say that just won’t come out.

“Come on, then, come with us.” Remus doesn’t seem to have any ideas about this and when Sirius looks at him for conformation, he shrugs his slight shoulders and smiles.

“Really?” Sirius asks, looking from Remus back to James.

“Of course! Come on, let’s go.” So Sirius follows his friends without second thought- knowing that Peter and Lily will be company enough for each other. The three of them turn against the flow of people moving outside to the bathroom near the Great Hall, wanting to disappear as quickly as possible. James checks that no one else is in the bathroom with them before he pulls the cloak out of his robe pocket- silvery and soft in his hands. Sirius and Remus watch silently as he unfolds the cloak and holds it out to gauge the size- big enough to fit three young boys underneath, that much is certain.

“Alright, huddle.” James says, pulling Sirius close to him and Remus on his other side. James drapes the cloak over them and Sirius doesn’t feel any different. He thought there would be some magical aura to it, but it feels deceptively ordinary. They trip over each other's feet while walking to the mirror and Sirius almost shouts in excitement, because the cloak isn’t a sham at all, and the three of them are  _ gone. _

_ “ _ Merlin, this is excellent!” Sirius shouts, earning a punch in the stomach from James. “Oi-”

“Shut up! People can still hear us!” James hisses through gritted teeth, and Sirius can hear Remus shaking with silent laughter due to his own stupidity. Well, okay then. Making their way through the castle proves to be more difficult than any of them, except maybe Remus, had expected, and Sirius is ashamed of how clumsy James is. By the time they’ve figured their way down to the dungeons, Sirius’s toes are sore from being trodden on by James, and he’s growing faint from the hot air that the three of them are breathing under the cloak.

The trio stop outside Slughorn’s classroom, catching their breath and rearranging themselves so as to avoid stomping on each other’s feet anymore. Remus is the first one to sneak his hand out of the cloak and try the doorknob, which is unsurprisingly locked. So Remus’s hand ventures back into the cloak, into the pocket of his robes, and returns with his wand.

“Alohomora.” He whispers, flicking his wand and clicking the lock easily. Wand away, Remus turns the knob again, and the door opens. Sirius wonders how strange that must’ve looked- a disembodied hand casting a spell before disappearing back into nothing. Remus moves forward and James and Sirius quickly follow him, crowding into the classroom and gently closing and locking the door behind them. At the end of the classroom is a closet where Professor Slughorn keeps his supplies. This closet is only opened when Slughorn is collecting the supplies for potions, and all three of them know that there are dangerous ingredients inside that he would never allow students to have access to. 

James takes off the cloak and casts lumos so the dark dungeons are cast into eerie light. He has his bag with him, to hold the supplies, which he hands to Remus, who has memorized exactly what and how much they need of everything.

“We’ll keep watch, Remus, you go ahead.” James instructs and Remus nods, taking gentle steps as he walks over to the closet.

“You don’t think he’s enchanted it, do you?” 

“Hm?” Sirius asks, gliding over to where Remus is standing and abandoning James by the doorway. 

“The door, like, it’ll scream if we try to open it or something.” Remus twists his hands together nervously and Sirius scoffs at him.

“Of course not. Alohomora.” Sirius directs at the closet door, and hears the lock click. Remus gives him a worried look and outstretches a shaky hand towards the door, opening it gently. And just like that, as though the door had heard Sirius, an alarm goes off. James jumps about a foot in the air, swearing loudly, while Remus stands as though frozen, staring at the inside of the closet. 

“Alright, let’s get out of here-” James begins, but Remus has already disappeared inside of the closet. 

“Silencio!” Sirius hisses, casting an absolutely useless spell on the door that’s blaring loudly, like a heightened alarm clock. He sees Remus running around inside the closest, fruitlessly searching for the ingredients, before giving up and using magic. It’s genius, something that Sirius would have been too dumb to think of in the heat of the moment, and he hears Remus’s shaky voice shouting “Accio foxglove! Accio toad’s tongue!” and so on until he reappears in the wailing doorway, James’s bag in his arms, his eyes blazing with adrenaline and worry. 

“Okay, all done.” Remus says in a contrastingly cool voice and Sirius feels a rush of pride for him. A true Gryffindor. James doesn’t seem to share the sentiment and nearly pushes them out of the dungeons, throwing the cloak on, and moving the group slowly but surely away from the Potions room as the alarm continues to wail in the distance. Maybe Filch had been at the other side of the castle, or Slughorn had been too immersed in the Quidditch match, or maybe it was sheer good luck, but the boys make it back to the Gryffindor common room without any hiccups and race into the dorms, laughing and chatting giddily.

“Nice work, Remus!” Sirius shouts, high fiving his grinning friend. 

“You got it all?” James asks, watching as Remus dumps out the contents of his bag onto his bed. 

“Everything.” Remus has his hands on his hips and looks proudly at the vials littering his bedsheets. 

“Brilliant.” Sirius says.

“Excellent.” James agrees.

“Fantastic.” Remus nods, beaming at the ingredients, proud to have done something right, for once.

**j**

Everything is going, pretty much, according to plan. Sirius and Peter are scheduled to take their bouncing bulb from the greenhouse that night, and James has planned to go moth catching with Sirius the next day. The only thing holding them back is where to brew the potions.

“Do any of you know a quiet place where I could work on charms in peace?” Remus asks their group at the dinner table that night. They’ve been learning growing and shrinking spells in charms class and Remus had been struggling with over-doing the engorgio charm, and ruining tables by crushing them under giant cauldrons during class. The whole friend group makes an effort to eat together on Saturday nights, and James had asked Remus to ask the girls for advice because he’s believably studious, and they never seem to think that he’s up to something.

Marlene is sitting next to him, as she often is, and she looks thoughtful, but Mary has an answer for him.

“The second floor girl’s bathroom. No one goes in there if they can help it. I’ve already learned my lesson.” She says promptly, earning curious looks from the rest of them, except Lily, who nods vigorously. 

“Moaning Myrtle.” The ginger haired girl says, and a look of realization dawns upon Marlene’s face.

“That makes sense.” Marlene says, blushing in a way that is reminiscent of Remus. 

“Who’s Myrtle?” Peter asks, leaning into their conversation. Peter always has a way of making people feel like he’s genuinely listening to them, and it’s part of the reason why James appreciates him. Peter is distraction-less, doesn’t interrupt, and asks questions to prompt people to continue. Sirius always gets distracted or starts talking about himself, and Remus would always rather have someone else talk. 

“She’s this ghost haunting the bathroom.” Mary explains. “Imagine- dying in Hogwarts, and then being spiteful enough to haunt not just the school, but a specific  _ loo _ ! It’s ridiculous!” 

“What does she do?” Remus asks from the end of the table. James is sitting in the middle of their group, next to Sirius and across from Mary and Peter, but both Remus and Marlene have ended up at the edge of the bench.

“I went in there once.” Marlene starts, attracting all of their attention. “She was sobbing, like having a complete breakdown, and so I asked if she was alright. And then she wouldn’t stop talking, blubbering on about how awful everyone is to her, she started insulting me- probably because I’m blonde and she’s jealous,” Sirius snickers at this, “and kept calling me all sorts of nasty things but every time I made to leave, she wouldn't let me! So I was late for transfiguration.” 

“Blimey.” James mumbles.

“She’s a nasty cow.” Mary declares.

“She’s dead, though, maybe we should have some respect.” Lily offers thoughtfully. “Anyways, Remus, I’m sure you can work there. Everyone except us first years know not to go in there.” Lily looks down the table at Remus, who only seems to have eyes for his plate, and speaks up hesitantly.

“Er... it’s a  _ girl’s  _ bathroom, though.” Lily scoffs at him in an oddly maternal way, and flips her dark red hair over her shoulder.

“Suit yourself, but it’ll work fine for your shoddy charms.”

“Cheers, Lily.” Remus’s tone is sarcastic but still kind, Remus is always kind, and he gives her a charmingly silly smile. They chat nonsense for the rest of dinner, and relocate from the Great Hall to the common room, having nothing better to do than hang out together until curfew. Lily sets herself on the low floor and pulls out a muggle deck of cards, declaring that she’ll teach James and Sirius how to play Beggar-My-Neighbor. Mary also knows how to play and offers to join. The game only works with four people, so Marlene is roped into a game of chess with Peter. Remus is sulking, as he often does, and sits up by the window with his nose in a book.

The card game is surprisingly complicated, and Sirius gets trigger happy when he learns that it involves slapping people’s hands, and starts smacking James’ hand whenever he picks up a card. The four of them play and fight noisily until a stressed looking fifth year tells them to shut up. Sirius fires back, telling him to study in the bloody library if he’d like peace and quiet, and the fifth year looks murderous before huffing loudly and packing up his books and notes before storming out of the portrait hole, apparently heeding Sirius’s advice.

“Blimey, I didn’t think that’d work.” Sirius laughs, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “Okay, MacDonald, it’s your turn, isn’t it?” Mary plays her card slowly and Lily slaps her hand hard, both of them squealing with surprise, and Lily taking the deck. James adjusts his glasses and sits back from the table, glancing around the common room to see Remus Lupin trying to sneak up the stairs.

"Oi, Remus! Where are you off to?" James calls out, watching his friend freeze on the spot. The brown haired boy turns around with his book held with both hands in front of him, looking awfully nervous. 

“Er… I’ve got to go.” He announces, getting everyone to look up at him and obviously hating the attention. James feels a bit regretful for calling him out so obviously. In the shadowed, warm light of the Gryffindor common room, Remus looks very solemn. There are premature lines on his scarred face and James is struck by how much older he looks. He’s  _ eleven,  _ for Merlin’s sakes, what’s got him so worried?

“Detention?” Mary asks casually.

“No, erm, actually, I’m going home.” It now seems that all of them have frozen, and Remus hastens to explain himself. “Just for the night, and tomorrow- my mum’s ill.” James is flooded with relief and feels himself release a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. 

“Oh no, is she alright?” Mary looks worried, as does Lily. Sirius looks more put off than concerned. 

"She’s…” Remus looks on the verge of a nervous breakdown and James wonders what he’s playing at. “...got cancer.”

“Oh!” Lily exclaims, raising her hands to cover her mouth. “Oh Remus, I’m sorry!”

“What’s-” James starts, but Remus cuts him off.

“It’s a disease muggles get. She’s getting treatment, she has it every week, and she wrote McGonagall asking if I could visit, so I’m using the floo in Hogsmeade- she’s  _ okay _ , Lily.” He cuts himself off to address the ginger girl who looks decidedly upset at this news. “She’ll be okay.” Remus seems as though he’s telling himself this rather than the rest of them, and he shakes himself out of his daze. “But I’ve got to go. I’ll see you all later, okay?”

“Take care.” James says solidly and Remus barely nods at him, looking nervous and rather ill himself. No one says anything else as he leaves, and James turns back to look at the table, the card game all but forgotten. 


	15. [YR 1] Rage is a Quiet Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my fave chapters i've written so far so enjoy :)
> 
> lyrics from "simmer" by hayley williams

_ how to draw the line between wrath and mercy? _

**r**

Rage. Guilt. Shame. Hate.

Remus is overcome with negativity on the night of the full moon, feeling unbearably  _ bad _ , overcome by misery and wondering what the point of life is, why he had been the one bitten, why there’s no cure, why he’s been destined to live a life this painful and awful and miserable. Utterly miserable. He lies naked on the splintered floor of the Shrieking Shack, not knowing what time it is, what day it is, what year it is. All he knows is that he’d give anything for the pain to end. 

He’s too young to fully consider suicide and understand what it consists of, along with the repercussions. In a few years, he’ll come to know what it means to be on the verge of taking his life, of being so tired of the pain and the secrets and the lies, that the hopelessness will overwhelm him more than his eleven year old self could ever imagine. But today, in January of 1972, he lies on the floor and wishes only that the pain would end, one way or another.

Remus gets his wish when he loses consciousness. 

When he wakes up, Madam Pomfrey is kneeling over him- a furrow between her brows as she heals the easiest of his wounds. 

“Remus?” She asks, her voice floating in and out of his head. “Remus, can you hear me?” 

“Mmm.” He mumbles, wincing as she works magic over his wounds, feeling the tears in his skin rejoin. There’s nothing wrong with his face, though. No new scars. At least there’s that. He doesn’t know much about healing spells, and after a few minutes, Madam Pomfrey has done everything that she can do in the shack. She usually takes him back to the hospital wing, gives him a sleeping draught, and lets him rest for the remainder of the day. The most alarming wounds are tended to immediately, and Remus is awash with relief when the ringing headache behind his eyes lessens. 

He squints his eyes open again and sees the matron sitting beside him on the floor, not doing anything. Just waiting. She’s not looking at him, instead gazing around the shack, but when Remus stirs, her attention is instantly back on him.

“Can you try to sit up for me?” She asks gently. She’s draped a threadbare blanket over him and Remus holds it to his chest as he sits up weakly. His head spins and he retches immediately, spitting sick onto the floor. “Oh dear.” Pomfrey says as Remus wipes his mouth with his bare arm, shivering in the freezing air. “Scourgify,” she points her wand at the floor and the vomit vanishes, but Remus still feels dreadful. 

“‘M sorry.” 

“That’s alright, Remus. Let’s get you back to the castle, how about?” Pomfrey gets up off the floor and offers her arm to Remus, who attaches himself to her like a leech. He can barely hold himself upright and feels like he might be sick again, but holds it in. He feels feverish and chilled. The walk back down the hallway makes him feel claustrophobic and weak, but the fresh air outside is relieving, and he breathes deeply as they walk up the grounds. It had just rained, and the early morning air is wet with moisture. Grey skies stretch up overhead and Remus focuses on breathing until they finally reach the castle and the hospital wing where he collapses into a bed. He drinks the foul tasting sleeping potion without complaint and lies back in the bed, exhausted and depressed.

Remus sleeps the day away, but feels much better by dinnertime. He usually leaves the hospital wing as quickly as possible, eager to get to class and pretend that nothing’s wrong, but today is Sunday, and when he woke up again around four o’clock, he might have hammed up his aches and pains a little to earn himself more time away from his friends. Being around them after the moon always means lying and feeling guilty, so he comforts himself a small amount by staying in solitude- reading a book that Pomfrey lent him about healing spells.

Remus is almost comfortable with staying there before he realizes, with sickening clarity, that it’s Lily Evans’s twelfth birthday and he’s spent nearly the whole day feeling sorry for himself. This is what finally gets him to leave the hospital wing, and he finds himself nearly running through the castle in order to make it to the Great Hall before dinner ends. The enchanted ceiling is a deep indigo color, sparkling with bright stars and constellations, and Remus feels warm at the sight of his friends sitting under the starry sky, chattering together excitedly. 

Lily is sitting in the middle of the group with a silly striped birthday hat perched crookedly on her head. There’s a bright smile on her face as she talks animatedly with her friends, but when she looks up and sees Remus at the edge of the table, her expression turns serious. 

“Happy birthday, Lily!” Remus says with as much good feeling as he can muster, sitting down at his usual place, next to Marlene. The blonde girl looks worried about him, they all do, and Remus burns- wishing more than anything that he just isn’t a werewolf. The inconvenience of the entire situation is becoming more and more unbearable, and the weight on his chest of keeping the secret is beginning to become too heavy.

“Thanks!” Lily gushes. Her face is red to match her hair and Remus assumes that much like Sirius’s birthday, she’s been the center of attention from dawn until dusk. “How’s your mum?” Remus hesitates, hating everything in that moment, thinking of what to say.  _ She’s not sick, she doesn’t have cancer, she’s totally and completely fine! I'm a werewolf and a liar, and I'm not sure which one I'm worse at! _

“She’s okay, she’s fine. Doing better. She just wanted to see me.” He lies, breaking eye contact with the green eyed girl. 

“That’s good to hear.” Lily says genuinely, and Remus nods awkwardly. Under the table, Marlene’s hand brushes his, and Remus feels even more ridiculous when she holds his hand and squeezes it. His face turns bright red as he stammers out something to change the topic with.

“Er… how’s your day been? Good gifts?”

“Yeah!” Lily’s energy is so bubbly and happy that Remus begins to relax, hoping that his hand isn’t clammy against Marlene’s. “My parents sent me a square shooter 2, and I’ve already used up so much of the film today. We should take a group photo tonight!” The others agree and continue chattering while Remus gladly fades into the background, talking quietly with Marlene and finally getting to eat some food. The group leaves shortly, though, and heads for the common room. It’s Lily’s birthday, so Remus forces himself to stay put and celebrate with her, though what he wants more than anything is to lie in his bed, put on a record, and read a book. No lying, no pretending. Nothing wrong.

**s**

Sirius, Peter, and Remus spend Thursday night in the second floor girl’s lavatory. They had spent the week mixing the fungi and pumpkin potions, and finally had produced two full vials of rather nasty poisons for Severus’s valentines present. The Slytherin boy had developed a cold that week, and Sirius had taken to calling him “Snivellus,” a name which had caught and ran like wildfire- people considering it close to genius.

The bathroom is hot with the small contained fires that Peter has set beneath their cauldrons. Sirius has left Remus and Peter to do the tedious work: melting the potions down into the chocolate. Both of them look as though they’ve been standing in a sauna- their ties are loose around their necks and both of them have rolled up their sleeves while they work, with their white shirts sticking to their sweaty skin. 

Sirius has chosen the more delicate task, which consists of cooling the chocolates, decorating them, and packaging them. He’s lying on his stomach on the cool bathroom floor, listlessly drawing designs onto the chocolate with a toothpick and a jar of frosting. Peter had tried to keep a conversation going but had given up when it became apparent that neither of his friends were interested in talking. Remus, as usual, seems to be in a foul mood, and Sirius can’t keep up with Peter’s brainless chatter. He wishes that James were with them, but his friend had to attend Quidditch practice. 

“Alright.” Remus says in a hoarse voice after a while, pushing his sweaty hair back off of his forehead. There’s three thick white scars on his left forearm that Sirius can’t help but study as Remus stretches his back and rolls his shoulders. He’s been hunched over the cauldron cooking down the chocolate for the better part of an hour, and finally seems to be satisfied. “I’ve finished.” Peter looks up at him and blinks sweat out of his eyes. Their potion making really has heated up the bathroom, and Sirius is having trouble keeping his decorated chocolates from melting back into goo.

“If you are, I am too. Have you got enough, Sirius?” Peter asks, looking over at the dark haired boy on the floor. Sirius has tied his hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of his face, and has both taken off his tie and undone a few buttons on his shirt. 

“Yeah, this’ll do.” 

“Great.” Peter is relieved and gets to work cleaning his cauldron, while Remus does the same. Sirius sits up and starts packing away the chocolates into a fancy little box that Remus had given them, having received many chocolates in his life. “It smells so good in here,” Peter adds. That’s true enough- the air is thick with the aromatic scent of dark chocolate, it’s even mouthwatering, but all of them know what the consequences would be for eating just one of the sweets they had created. 

“Well, Remus has enough chocolates in the dorm to eat, right?” Sirius offers in a joking way, trying to lighten their off puttingly dull moods. 

“We just melted the lot of them into poison, so I’ve got to be a bit more selective with free handouts.” Remus responds, elbow deep in his cauldron as he scrubs it out. “God, I need to learn the scouring charm, it’s no fair to not teach it to first years.”

“I’m sure Evans could help you learn it.” Sirius stands up and moves over to Remus’s cauldron, which is looking wonky and generally worse for wear. “Have you melted this?” He taps the side of it and Remus looks pathetic.

“Not tonight, but in class. I’m doomed at Potions.”

“You’re not the only one.” Peter responds. “Here, I’ve finished with mine, do you need help?” They clean out Remus’s lumpy cauldron in silence, and Sirius performs the shrinking charm on the cauldrons so they can fit into his pocket as they travel back to the common rooms. It’s after curfew, but none of them are much worried about being caught. They’ve only ever served detentions for poor uniform, and Sirius for disrupting transfiguration class. Even the ordeal in Slughorn’s classroom seemed to have gone unsolved by the professors, and Sirius is glad to let the incident sink into the background of their lives, quietly forgotten. James had lent them his invisibility cloak for the night, and the three boys crowd under it as they move back through the dark and silent castle, Sirius knowing his way back due to his photographic sense of direction. 

When they return to the dormitory, James is sitting in his bed in his pyjamas working on a herbology report.

“Looking cozy, Potter.” Sirius drawls as they tromp up the stairs and tiredly enter the dormitory. Remus looks more tired than usual and locks himself in the bathroom almost right away, with the shower running loudly. 

“I didn’t think you’d need any help.” James responds distractedly from his bed. “This essay is a real bugger, thought I’d get ahead.”

“Abandoning the marauders!” Sirius exclaims dramatically. “Never thought I’d see the day!” 

“Well, how did it go?” James asks Peter, studiously ignoring his best friend. Sirius has always had a flair for the dramatic and finds himself mentally demanding James’s attention, having had to spend the night with two friends who apparently weren’t interested in talking to him. James always has something interesting to say, a way to fuel Sirius’s ego, and he tunes out Peter’s response about the chocolate making session. Instead, he finds an inkwell and parchment and starts writing a letter. 

_ Dearest Sev, _

_ Happy Valentine’s Day! I know that we’ve grown apart since starting at Hogwarts, but I want you to know that my feelings for you have never faded. I’ve found myself thinking of you more than usual, and want you to understand the true passion of my feelings.  _

_ I love you, Sev, and I can only hope that you feel the same way about me. Spending time with you is the best part of any day, and I find myself wanting to be with you as much as possible. Please be discreet with this note, don’t share it with your friends, but do let me know if my feelings are reciprocated. Enjoy the chocolates. _

_ Love,  _

_ Lily  _

“Should I add some x’s and o’s?” Sirius asks as James reads the letter with a concentrated expression on his face. 

“Hmm.” The black haired boy muses as he passes the note to Peter. “I think it’s fine the way it is. I like the bit about friends, seeing as he’s got none.” Sirius laughs and doesn’t spend any time feeling sympathy for Severus, never stopping to consider how lonely it might be to live without any friends. When Evans had invited him to eat dinner with them, Sirius had only been offended at having his greasy Slytherin arse sitting at their house table, with their lovely Lily. Peter doesn’t say much about the note and passes it to Remus, whose hair is wet from the shower and still doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood.

Sirius watches for Remus’s reaction, but doesn’t get one. Remus is like that- generally keeping his emotions very much in check. Sirius is disappointed when the only reaction Remus provides is a heavy sigh.

“Don’t you feel bad for Evans, though?” He asks. “If he comes to her professing his love and waving this note around, she’ll feel awful about it.” 

“Don’t be such a downer.” Sirius complains, taking the note back. He’s written it in his best cursive, and he hopes it looks enough like Lily’s handwriting. He’s got no idea what hers looks like, and hopes that Snape doesn’t either. Which seems unlikely. 

“It’ll be okay, Remus.” James offers in that calming way he does so well. “I bet he’ll be too afraid to mention it to her.”

“Once his face turns into a mushroom, he might.” Remus grumbles unhappily. He’s sitting in his pyjamas, cross legged on the end of his bed. His mood has been poor for the past week, and Sirius can only assume that it’s because of his mum. 

“Let’s stay positive, ok? Unless there’s something wrong, Remus?” James sounds like a mum, or a teacher, and Remus sneers at him in a mean way.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” He bites back in a snappy way that reminds Sirius of himself. “Sorry,” He apologizes almost immediately in a way that reminds Sirius nothing of himself. “I didn’t mean to be sharp."

“That’s alright.” James says easily, glancing only briefly at Sirius. “Want to put on a record?” All of them have come to realize that nothing brightens Remus’s mood like music does, and the brown haired boy smiles bashfully, looking down at the records sprawled across the floor by his bed.

“Sure, go on then.” Remus crouches on the floor and starts looking for something to stick on. “Any requests?”

“Bowie.” James declares, and Remus nods in agreement, pulling out his sleeve of Hunky Dory. James likes fast music to sing along to, which is fair as he has a rather good voice. He likes The Kinks, The Beatles, Bowie, and the Beach Boys. Sirius likes Remus’s crazier records, like Hendrix, The Stones, and The Doors. Still, The Kinks are all their favorite. Remus has mentioned a band named Funkadelic that one of his muggle friends had played for him and said that their music is like nothing he’s ever heard before- crossing dimensions. Sirius had made a mental note of them, wanting to hear psychedelic funky rock that Remus praises so highly. 

“Changes” blasts throughout the room as James flicks his wand at the record player, turning the volume up. He’s singing along as soon as the song starts, doing a brave imitation of Bowie from his bed, though it’s clear his Herbology report has been forgotten and he’d rather be dancing. They listen to the whole record through before going to bed. Sirius’s favorite song is Queen Bitch, mostly because of the title, but he has to admit that the album is good. He wishes there were more guitar, though. No one does guitar quite like Hendrix.

  
  


**j**

Valentine’s Day passes in a haze of pink and red and glimmering gold. As first years, there’s not much romance going around, though Sirius has developed somewhat of a flirtationship with a Ravenclaw girl named Maggie, and Remus always seems to have eyes for Marlene. Still, all of them are focused on the prank, and eagerly watch Snape through all of breakfast where he opens the gift from “Lily” and blushes an unfortunate shade of pink and gets a starry eyed look on his face that Sirius makes fun of all day long.

They don’t have classes with the Slytherins at all on Monday, and James has no clue what Severus gets up to in his free time, so he resolves his anxiety of seeing if the potions have worked with knowing that he’ll see the greasy faced boy in Charms the next morning. However, at breakfast on Tuesday, his plans are upset by Professor McGonagall.

James has been having a mini food fight across the table with Sirius, who’s come down for breakfast because he wanted to see if Snape’s hair had turned orange, at least, or if at least one mushroom had sprouted on his face. Severus hadn’t been at the Slytherin table so Sirius had taken his uncharacteristic early morning energy out on James by flicking eggs at him. James retorts by flinging porridge across the table while Remus and Marlene sigh in a dignified way that they seem to share. 

“Oi, you two, McGonagall’s headed our way.” Peter warns, and James wonders what’s got McGonagall bored enough to start putting stops to innocent food fights at breakfast time. Still, he heeds Peter’s warning and starts eating his porridge instead of throwing it at Sirius. 

“Good morning, professor!” Sirius chirps in his uniquely annoying way, giving the witch a toothy grin.

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Black. Ms. Evans, Mr. Lupin, I was wondering if I could speak with you two?” James glances down the table at Remus, first, who looks decidedly alarmed. Lily, on the other hand, looks as though nothing is wrong, which would make sense as she most definitely hasn’t  _ done _ anything wrong. 

“Of course, professor.” Lily stands up and follows McGonagall out of the entrance hall, while a panicked looking Remus stumbles after them. 

“I wonder what that’s about.” Marlene ponders, watching the two of them go. James, unfortunately, has an idea of exactly what it might be about. He shares a long look with Sirius, and without words, the two seem to know precisely what they need to do. James gives the same look to Peter, who just shrugs pathetically. It’s decided, then. 

“We’ve got to go.” He explains weakly to Marlene, who glances up at them, wide eyed. Mary isn’t there, James assumes she’s having a lie in in a similar fashion to Sirius most days, and he feels a bit guilty for abandoning his friend at breakfast. She always seems to remind him of a female equivalent of Remus, and James knows that he wouldn’t leave his friend to sit by himself, but this is the sort of situation that requires his immediate presence. “Sorry, McKinnon, we’ll see you in Charms.”

“Sure.” Marlene doesn’t ask where they’re going or why, just watches as the three boys speed out of the Great Hall, nearly tripping over themselves with a furious need to catch up to McGonagall and their two friends.

“Remus was right.” Peter whinges nervously as he hurries behind James, who’s leading the way. “He was right, Evans is going to be blamed, this was such a bad idea.”

“Cheer up, Pete.” James tells him. “It’ll be fine.” They reach McGonagall’s office quickly, due to their fast pace through the empty hallways, and James knocks on the door loudly and quickly before opening it- not waiting for an invitation to enter. 

“I did it!” James declares loudly, noting the shock on McGonagall’s face that is quickly concealed by anger. “Lily’s innocent- she didn’t do anything. I did it.”

“ _ We  _ did it.” Sirius adds, stepping up beside James. “The four of us, not her.” Lily and Remus are sitting side by side across from McGonagall at her desk, and the red haired girl turns around slowly in her chair with a look like menace in her eyes.

“Well.” McGonagall says, obviously composing herself. “This is news to me, as Mr. Lupin told me that he had acted alone.” James watches Remus tilt his head back towards the ceiling and mutter to himself under his breath, something along the lines of “Jesus buggering Christ”. It’s very noble of Remus, to throw himself under the bus for his friends, but James won’t have it. "Professor Slughorn's supply cellar was broken in to, and Mr. Lupin's fingerprints were found. _Only_ Mr. Lupin's."

“Well, Remus is awful at potions- he most certainly couldn’t have done it without help.” Sirius says brazenly and James’s face twists as he tries his best not to smile. McGonagall, however, looks incredibly grim.

“Mr. Black, this is not a laughing matter. Ms. Evans, you can leave us now, I'm sorry for the confusion.” Lily doesn’t wait to leave, and gets up in a huffy sort of way. She knocks shoulders with James as she leaves, storming off down the hallway. This does end up making James feel a guilty sort of bad, and he knows he’ll have to go make up with her once this is over. The heavy wooden door of McGonagall’s office slams behind her and James feels unable to turn around and face McGonagall. When he’s faced with serious or troubling situations, James has the nasty habit of laughing.

When his distant uncle had died and his parents had told him the news very seriously, James had fought to keep a straight face for reasons completely unknown- not knowing what awful part of his brain had compelled him to start laughing in serious situations. This happens now, as McGonagall lectures them about the dangers of the potions and what had indeed happened to Severus. James twists his face about, trying to get the smile to leave, but when McGonagall shrieks that his head was turned into a  _ jack o’ lantern,  _ James can’t help it, and covers his face with his hand as he finally lets the laughter out. 

“Mr.  _ Potter _ !” McGonagall admonishes. 

“I’m so sorry,” James stammers out, tears rising to his eyes. “I’m- I can’t help it.” But the thought of Severus sitting in his Slytherin robes as a jack o’lantern with a sheaf of greasy black hair is hilarious, and James heaves into his hands, laughing silently- the hilarity of the situation proving that he’s unable to stop. Sirius himself seems to be struggling to keep his face serious, and James tries to think of something dark: death, dying, war, sickness, but the pumpkin stubbornly pops back into his vision.

“Compose yourself!” McGonagall scolds.

“I’m  _ trying!”  _ There are now legitimate tears in the corners of his eyes and James takes a very deep breath- “This isn’t funny, professor, I don’t know what’s wrong with me-”

“Will fifty points from Gryffindor and a month's detention help sort you out?” McGonagall offers, and James releases his breath, feeling his humor lessen significantly.

“That did the trick.” He mumbles quietly and Sirius snorts loudly. 

“That’ll be a hundred points from Gryffindor in total, for your reprehensible actions. Detention for a month for all of you- that includes Quidditch practice, Mr. Potter.” James feels his shoulders slump and sees Remus mouth “I’m sorry” in a kind way that does serve in making James feel better, if only a little bit. “The four of you will report to Mr. Filch at 8 o’clock tonight for your assignments. And rest assured, you will  _ not  _ be enjoying yourselves. I also expect all of you to apologize to Mr. Snape for your wrongdoings. Now, be on your way to class before you’re late.” McGonagall looks murderous and James finds that for once, he has nothing to say. Remus rises like a ghost from the chair and exits the room, with James letting the three boys leave in front of him and himself being the last one out.

“Shut the door behind you, Potter!” She calls and James scoffs loudly, but does as he’s told. 


	16. [YR 1] Pretty Kind of Dirty Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyric from "robbers" by the 1975
> 
> also jesus christ.. james potter is just who i aspire to be at the end of the day. i've written him as the most maniacally happy person in the entire world & i love him

_she says “babe, you look so cool”_

**r**

Serving detention until mid-March isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Remus. The bad parts of it involve not being able to enjoy the Wednesday night hangouts, especially on Marlene’s birthday, where Remus gives her his gifts in the afternoon and apologizes for missing the party. She forgives him, of course, but she’s been acting colder to him ever since the incident with Lily took place, and Remus feels a great sense of shame about it. 

Lily had completely stonewalled the marauders- ignoring them with a vengeance that Remus can only admire. He understands her anger better than the other three, and imagines how hurt she must feel that three of her good friends have worked shockingly hard to ruin a lifelong friendship. Besides, it seems that Lily and Severus’s friendship has only improved since the poisoning, which is hard for Remus to wrap his head around. Maybe she _does_ love him, and confessed to it after Sirius’s note had been delivered. Or maybe she pretended that Sirius Black hadn’t written the note, and had just taken it in stride, but that just doesn’t make sense. 

The apology to Severus had been the easiest part of the entire punishment, at least for Remus. It had probably been the worst for James and especially Sirius, who’s bad at apologies and hates having his pride wounded. Of course, none of them had been genuinely apologetic, but Remus assumes that he had been the most serious about saying sorry, even though the revenge had felt rather sweet. Of course, like most things, seeing Snape had caused Remus immense amounts of guilt afterwards, and he understands the need for all the detentions.

Severus had been scarred. The fungus had been magically removed from his face, but whatever means Madam Pomfrey had used to get rid of it had left pockmarks in Snape’s yellowish skin, like acne scars. Remus isn’t sure if they’re permanent, like the ones on his own face, but knowing that he had disfigured the boy gave him a bad feeling, and he had discussed it with Sirius, late one night in their dorms.

The boys had returned from their punishments, which Filch had orchestrated individually to make as miserable as possible- involving the things that the boys hate the most. Remus, who abhors physical activity, had been tasked with assisting Hagrid in mulching the school grounds. James probably wouldn’t have minded, but spending long nights around the grounds lugging huge, smelly bags of mulch and bending over gardens to tend to has rendered Remus permanently sore. He had been given a night off when the full moon came, and for once he was grateful for the excuse to have an evening alone. Even if he did spend it as a wolf. Still, afterwards, the punishment had hurt even worse with his aching limbs and sore wounds.

Sirius had been given a fitting punishment- feeding and looking after Professor Kettleburn’s flobberworms. Professor Slughorn needed their mucus for thickening his potions, so Sirius had been given full rein of keeping the worms alive. He had to grow the cabbage for them to eat, had to monitor them every night- collecting their mucus in vials, counting each one to make sure none of them had died, gotten lost, or eaten one another, and had to separate the rotten ones from live ones. For a boy from a posh, pureblooded family from inner London, Sirius had no real love for nature or animals, and each night found himself even more disgusted by them. 

Peter, who has a short attention span, had been handed over to Professor Binns and was forced to read History of Magic textbooks and organize citations for the professor- who himself was writing a dissertation on the Goblin Rebellions. James hadn’t stayed in many of his assigned detentions for long. The boy was simply too optimistic and found a positive in all of the activities, so Filch still has his work cut out for him when finding something to leave James with a negative lasting impression.

On this particular night in early March, Remus had staggered back up to the dorms, stained with dirt and dead exhausted to find Sirius splayed out on the floor with a very long sheaf of parchment in front of him, scribbling madly.

“What’s that?” Remus asks as he steps over him, collapsing onto his bed without second thought of how he’s dirtying his bedsheets. 

“It’s for History.” Sirius replies. It’s not often that the dark haired boy busies himself with schoolwork more than Remus, and the latter finds himself perplexed. 

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. It was assigned weeks ago. Due tomorrow, bright and early.” Remus assumes that this is one of the many assignments that Professor Binns mentions only once, and very briefly, in class with a vague future due date. Remus usually completes these essays within a few days of them being assigned, just to get them over with, but this one must’ve been assigned around one of the full moons when Remus isn’t at his best in class. 

“Oh no, I completely forgot about it. Here, let me copy yours.” Remus solves his problem easily and throws himself down on the floor next to Sirius, glancing at his swirly, girlish writing that’s barely legible. Without complaint, Sirius pushes his essay over towards Remus and the two boys lie in silence, both of them writing feverishly.

“There, I take it I’ve finished. You owe me one.” Sirius sits back and looks at the long essay with pride.

“Cheers.” Remus replies distractedly, pushing Sirius’s essay closer to his own and copying it down, now at a slower pace, forgetting about the momentary panic of not having his work done. Sirius hovers awkwardly for a moment, not seeming to know where to be, and ends up sitting on the edge of his bed, cupping his chin with his hands, watching Remus write. Sirius knows that Remus prefers to do his work in the library, with an actual desk to sit at, but it’s past curfew and he’s dirty and tired. He shifts uncomfortably on the floor and sits back up, glancing up at Sirius, who seems to have nothing better to do than stare at him. 

“So.” Remus begins, wanting to get the pestering thoughts off of his mind, once and for all. “I was paired up with Snape in Charms today.”

“Stupid, snotty twat.” Sirius’s sentiments towards the boy obviously haven’t seemed to have changed since Valentine’s day, and Remus inwardly sighs.

“I feel bad for him.” This gets Sirius quiet, and he frowns as Remus continues. “His face is all mucked up, now.” Remus is looking down at the essay he’s copying, but his writing has turned very slow. “Like mine.” He adds.

“He looks dreadful. You, on the other hand, are incredibly cool.” Sirius’s response comes so fast and with so little hesitation that Remus feels his face heat up again. God, if he could only find a way to stop himself from blushing every time anyone talks about himself to him. 

“I’m not cool.” Remus mumbles under his breath, avoiding looking up at Sirius at all costs. 

“Rubbish. You’re the coolest. And your scars are cool, you look like you’ve been in a swordfight, he just looks like he’s had his face turned into a mushroom.” Sirius laughs and Remus smiles, though not feeling genuinely pleased at all. “Really, Remus, don’t feel bad. He deserved it.” Remus had been trying to convince himself of this, but still hasn’t been able to rid himself of the guilt. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up to Sirius- the boy is far too stubborn. Remus easily lets the subject drop, not bothering to convince Sirius to see his own perspective. That’s far too much work.

**s**

Sirius could kill McGonagall for not giving them a night off on Remus’s birthday.

“It’s his _birthday,_ professor!” He whines, running behind the tall witch as she strides down the hallway towards her classroom. “It only happens once a year! It’s historical!”

“I know what a birthday is, Mr. Black.” McGonagall snaps at him, her robes sweeping around her. It’s Friday morning and Sirius is bound to be late for Herbology, but he’s chasing down his teacher with weak hope that she might give in and let them have one blessed night off of detention to celebrate. 

“Well, how would you feel if you had to spend your birthday hauling mulch up and down the grounds? Listen, we’ll all do an extra day of the detentions to make up for it.” Sirius doesn’t know how McGonagall can walk so fast without running, since he’s basically jogging to keep up with her. “Please, professor, he’s the one whose felt the most remorse for what we’ve done, anyways. He told me all about how bad he feels, he’s _empathic,_ professor, you can’t let an empath have to serve detention on his birthday! That’ll make him cry! We can’t have our Remus crying!”

“Mr Black.” McGonagall says in an exasperated voice, stopping so short that Sirius trips into her and springs back almost immediately- feeling that as a professor, he shouldn’t be allowed to touch her. Her grey green eyes bore into him and he takes a large step back, face flushed with exertion. She studies his face intently and Sirius scuffs his foot on the floor, feeling uncomfortable with the silence. He feels strikingly like she’s his mother, about to make an unpredictable decision, and it leaves a nasty twisty feeling in his stomach. “Fine.” She says shortly, almost a mirror image of Walburga.

“What?” Sirius’s mouth has dropped open and he gapes at his professor who regards him impartially. 

“Fine, you four can have the night free. But you will serve an extra day, on the fifteenth.”

“Oh, excellent!” Sirius cheers, pumping his fist. “Thank you, professor, thanks so much! Remus will be so glad!” McGonagall just shakes her head and walks away as Sirius now puts a burst of genuine speed on, rushing outside and down to the greenhouses. His friends are out in the grounds, nearly inside the greenhouses, but Sirius catches up and throws himself onto Remus’s back, nearly dragging his friend to the ground.

“Oi!” Remus shouts, catching Sirius’s legs under his arms, thoughtlessly giving him a piggy-back ride. 

“Remus, we’ve got the night off detention!” Sirius yells, laughing as Remus spins around in an attempt to get him off his shoulders. 

“Do we?” James asks in surprise. “They had me trimming the twigs on school brooms, I was quite enjoying it.”

“Shut up, you!” Sirius yells, dropping off of Remus’s back, but slapping him on the shoulder with gusto. “Couldn’t not have a party for you.” He tells his friend kindly, who smiles broadly and thanks him. It hadn’t been very difficult to get McGonagall to give them the night off, not when she was threatened with making poor Remus cry (which had been an admittedly weak lie, none of them have ever seen Remus cry), but Remus isn’t much of a partier. They spend the night like they would spend any Wednesday, playing games and joking around. Lily finally seems to have forgiven them and has baked Remus cupcakes, this time, which are just as tasty as her cake for Sirius had been.

Remus’s birthday celebrations are reminiscent of Sirius’s, if a little less dramatic. Sirius wonders if they’ll do the same for James, whose own birthday falls in late March. Once curfew falls and a prefect tells them to clear out, the four boys climb the staircase back to their dormitory, where Sirius wastes no time in presenting Remus with his gift.

It’s not as good as a record, but it’s enough. Sirius hadn’t known what to get his friend, and feels that having a half blood as a best mate proves difficult when it comes to shopping, because Remus has seen enough of both worlds to not be impressed by everyday muggle or wizarding artifacts. Still, Sirius had bought him a few wells of color-changing ink, knowing how Remus loves to organize his notes by color. 

Remus is obsessed with the ink, clearly having never seen it before, and pulls out one of the many pieces of parchment that are littered on the floor by his bed. He writes a few words with the ink and watches the different colors flash across the page. He asks about how to get the colors to specifically change, and Sirius moves over him to show him how. His wizard-ness seems to have not included the wonders of color change ink, and Remus thanks Sirius with such genuine emotion that Sirius himself is a little shocked.

Remus opens his gifts from Peter and Sirius with that little hint of embarrassment that he always seems to wear, especially when given gifts. It’s clear that he’s relieved at James’s timeless offer to put on a record- Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, as usual- and he relaxes into the music in a way that Sirius can’t relate to as much as he’d like to. 

James’s favorite tune is With A Little Help From My Friends, it’s been clear since the day Sirius met him, and the boy bounces around the room, dancing shamelessly. Sirius likes Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds best, so the two boys are satisfied after only three songs on the album have passed. But Remus’s favorite is A Day in the Life, so they stay up late to listen to it. It’s a great end to the album, Sirius must admit, but he doesn’t like the scary bit at the end when the music changes and a huge cacophony arises. The weird, quiet part at the end, after it’s all over is way cool. It’s very late at night, or early in the morning depending on how you look at it, and the boys sit in a solemn silence while the record fades out. Then it rings back, with the unsettling “never to see any other way” repeating in a jolting surprise, and then it’s properly over. Peter is half asleep on his bed, resting his chin on his arms, eyes closed. But the rest of them have been listening the whole time, and stare around at each other like- what now?

“Well then.” James says to break the silence. “Bed?” 

“Yeah.” Remus responds. Sirius feels restless, and wishes that they were older and had other ways to celebrate. He’d like to have an older sibling, he thinks. It’s pressuring to be the Black heir, and he thinks it would be so much easier to have someone to go off of, someone to give him advice, tell him how to do things right. Being the eldest is going into battle blind. 

“You don’t want to go on a walk, or something?” Sirius offers in a sort of desperation. He loves celebrating. He doesn’t want to go to sleep just yet. But Remus and James are looking at him with disbelieving expressions. 

“A walk?” Remus repeats, as though he’s never heard of it.

“Nevermind.” Sirius says quickly, and to his surprise, the two boys just let it go. No one takes him up on the offer, and Remus’s birthday ends as soon as it had started. Low-key.

  
  


**j**

A month’s detention can’t get James down. Nothing can get James down. Gryffindor wins their match against Hufflepuff in mid March, a few days after James is finally allowed to attend practices again. Austin had given him a very loud and stern talking to in the changing rooms before his first practice back, but the seventh year’s wrath only makes James work harder. They have a party after winning the match and James feels warm with good feeling and attention. He’s become very close with the second year chaser Hyatt, and sits with him sometimes at lunch on days when they have practice in the afternoons. 

James’s birthday is a joyful and loud affair, one for the books, and spring warms the grounds of Hogwarts when April finally arrives. James feels like a ray of absolute sunshine and does his best to fill his friends with his own positivity. Life just feels _great_ to him, and he works hard in his studies, excelling more than usual in Transfiguration, and spending most nights out on the Quidditch pitch to make up for the month of practice he had missed. Sirius had told him genuinely that no second year had ever been made Quidditch captain, and James could only laugh at him. He’s not trying to get a leg up, he’s just filled with positive energy.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice in late April, James returns to the dorm to find Sirius and Peter sitting up on their beds, doing homework in companionable silence. 

“Feeling studious, are we?” James asks, noisily pulling off his boots and setting them down on the floor next to his other shoes. Peter doesn’t reply, obviously engrossed in his work, and Sirius takes a few minutes before looking up at his friend. 

“Charting Neptune and Pluto is impossible.” He says finally, looking up from his Astronomy work. Sirius is usually incredibly adept as Astronomy, so the work must be rather tough if he's struggling with it. “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished this?” James moves over to his bed and looks down at the chart. 

“Oh yeah, Remus and I finished that a few days ago.” For most of the year, James hadn’t understood Remus’s dedication to spending long hours in the library, studying and completing homework, but lately he’s been joining him. Remus hadn’t minded the company once he realized that James was actually there to work, not to plan pranks, and the two have been making use of each other's proficiency at different subjects to complete their work in a very efficient fashion. “Speaking of, where is Remus?” James asks obliviously as he starts changing out of his Quidditch robes in the middle of the dormitory. Neither of the other boys care much, and are engrossed in their rather overwhelming Astronomy work.

“Went to visit his mum.” Peter replies without looking up from his parchment. 

“Oh, right.” James sighs as he goes about tidying up his clothes. “That must be hard.” Is all he can think to say. It must be dreadful, really, to have your mum deathly ill while you’re away at school. James can’t imagine what it would be like. 

“I was doing research about it, actually.” Sirius pipes up, now seeming a little distracted. “I found it in some Muggle Studies book- all about their various diseases. Apparently, they call the cure for cancer chemotherapy.” He sounds the word out as though he doesn’t quite know how to pronounce it. “They blast you with _radiation_ every few weeks, it sounds more deadly than helpful.”

“Blimey.” James replies. “That’s what they’re doing to her?” 

“I suppose.”

“How do you… radiate? How do you radiate somebody?” 

“They put it in an IV.” 

“What’s that?” Sirius shrugs sheepishly. 

“Dunno what it stands for, really. They stick a needle in your arm and get it in you that way.”

“Ew.” Peter says from his side of the room, screwing up his face. “I hate needles.”

“Wouldn’t hate ‘em if you had cancer.” Sirius shoots back, and Peter nods thoughtfully before returning to his book. It’s not too late at night and James still feels restless, like there’s more for him to do. Remus usually perches up on the windowsill come nighttime, preferring to use his bed for sleeping, and the floor for homework. Him and Sirius have that in common, sprawling out on the floor, propped up by their elbows while writing essays. But he reads in the windowsill. James takes advantage of his absence to climb into the windowsill with his History of Magic textbook, trying to get ahead on their work before revision starts in mid-May. 

The night had been fair and warm, so James opens the window and sighs again, cracking open his book. The three of them sit in silence for a while, but James quickly finds his textbook dry and boring, so he resorts to gazing out the window. It’s a clear night, and the full moon shines bright enough to light up the grounds with beautiful, silvery light. The light reflects off his glasses and James briefly considers the moon. The full moon. 

Then, on the night of April twenty eighth, James Potter comes to a realization. His consideration of the moon becomes anything but brief, and he stares up at it, wondering if these ideas in his mind are stupid or valid. Remus has been leaving to go visit his mum every month, about _once_ every month, and before break, he had been sneaking off to the hospital wing every so often. There were his scars, the ones across his face and the short ones on his arm and the worse ones that James had only seen once- all over his chest and shoulders. Could it be…? 

James looks over at Sirius and then at Peter. Both of them are still hard at work, since Astronomy class is tomorrow, and James watches his two friends with a fond warmth. He’ll miss them over the summer. Still, there’s a moment where he considers telling them- sharing his musings about what Remus might be up to instead of visiting his sick mum. _Is_ his mum even sick? Or had he been lying about that, too? This line of thinking makes James completely unable to focus on the history textbook, and he closes it, setting it down in his lap. God, what a shock that would be, if Remus was a _werewolf._ James wonders if he should confront him about it, but he knows that Remus would probably blush so hard that his head would explode and then shout a bit- like he did when James asked him about the scars. Christ. What an unfortunate situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave it to me to make a meme out of my stories but lmao.. screencap of james potter sitting in the windowsill thinking about wolfy possibilities


	17. [YR 1] Kids in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "kids in love" by mayday parade as a throwback to the joys of middle school and first kisses <3
> 
> also SORRY for making their 1st year so obnoxiously long. next chap is the last one of first year absolutely FINALLY. i've written up to 3rd yr so far and their 2nd year is like half the amount of chapters so don't fret if this got too tedious and you got way too many slices of life lmao

_ our hearts beat inside our chest, leaving us gasping for every breath  _

**r**

“I’ll miss you.” Marlene muses, shamelessly holding Remus’s hand between their legs as they sit on the couch in the common room. It’s Friday, where they have double Herbology and flying class. The May weather is bright, warm, and welcoming- but Remus has been trapped inside by Marlene who insisted on needing help with Charms work. It hadn’t seemed to occur to her that her best friend Lily was more capable than Remus at Charms, and Remus had quickly realized that Marlene was using this mostly as an excuse to get Remus by himself, which is difficult to do these days.

“Mmm, me too.” He responds stupidly. As their time spent in first year has begun to wind down, Marlene has become more and more shameless about her feelings for Remus. It’s not that he minds, which he doesn’t. It’s just  _ awkward,  _ is all, and Remus isn’t confident like James or Sirius is. “But we have a month left.” He says to provide some sort of optimism. He’s sitting deep in the couch, feeling as though it might swallow him, and Marlene is sitting close enough that her right thigh is touching his left one. She holds their hands together by their knees. Marlene brings a warm presence with her, a nervous twisting in his stomach that more often than not makes him a little nauseous, and he clings onto her hand for fear that she might move even closer or, god forbid, try to kiss him.

Most boys would be itching for an opportunity to cuddle up with and kiss a girl, and the thought sounds nice enough, but Remus has never done anything like this before and is heart stoppingly anxious about the whole situation. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Yeah.” Marlene responds breathily, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. “D’you have any plans for the summer?” Marlene has a slight Scottish accent, in the same way that Remus might have a light Welsh one, and he thinks about her big family and what her house in the suburbs of Edinburgh might look like. 

“No, just staying at home. We don’t really go on holiday.” James’s parents had informed him earlier in the week that they were going to take a holiday to Italy, at which both Sirius and Peter had begun immediately pestering him with excited questions. Remus, who has a large imagination and loves to daydream, had gotten lost in his thoughts of what Italy might be like. Rome- with its fascinating ancient ruins, the glowing Coliseum, the marbled statues, the close knit cobbled streets- or Venice, with its winding canals and boats that would make Sirius lose his lunch. He thinks of the countryside, with golden rolling hills and green vineyards. The food: fresh pizza and pasta and gelato, all sorts of delicacies that Remus has never truly tasted. He had been bitter with jealousy, and had only lightly joined in with sharing James’s excitement.

Marlene’s answer tells him what he wants to hear, though, as it usually does.

“Same for me. My oldest brother, Ollie, has got a job in America, in Chicago, but it’s too expensive to visit this year.” Remus is suddenly fascinated. He knows that Marlene has two older brothers and an older sister: Oliver, Frazer, and Katie. He didn’t know that one of them worked in America, a place that he often fantasizes about, though.

“Really? Where’s Chicago?”

“It’s in the middle, they call it the midwest. A state called Illinois. He’s an arithmancer there, they’ve got a much higher demand for them in America.”

“Wow, that’s so cool. What do the others do?” Honestly, Remus doesn’t know much about careers in the wizarding world. He’s much more in tune with the muggle world, which makes sense as his mum never felt completely comfortable with wizarding ways. She goes to parties, like the Potters’ New Years one, with Lyall, but has never been to the ministry, and felt completely out of place on their trip to Diagon Alley over the summer. Neither of Remus’s parents are very popular in their workplaces or have very many friends at all, so Remus has made the best of the muggle villages that he’s lived in. 

“Frazer works at a farm, grows stuff for potion making. Katie’s a photographer for the Prophet, which is rather exciting, but I think I’d like to be a herbologist, one day.” 

“For the ministry?” Remus asks, not really knowing how it works. 

“Maybe. Or maybe a professor, who knows. The future’s far away.” That much is true, and Remus agrees. He hasn’t wasted time in thinking about a career because there’s the werewolf registry to think about, the prejudices that people have, and the way that it’s very unlikely for him to end up with a steady, well paying job after school is over. “Well, Lily and Mary might come up during the summer to visit, which would be a treat. Are you going to Potter's?” 

“He’s going to Italy.” Remus replies, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Oh, right, I forgot. Ha, though he’s not keen to let us!”

“Right?” Remus is glad to know that she’s noticed his bragging as well. “Well, he’ll be having fun off in Rome while I’ll be sitting in Mold, Wales-”

“No!” Marlene gasps, her eyes bright with humor. “Don’t tell me that’s the name of your town?” 

“I won’t lie to you.”

“Remus, really?”

“Really.” Marlene laughs again, apparently finding the name of his town as funny as he had when his parents had first told him that they were relocating to a town called Mold. 

“It’s not so bad though. It’s peaceful, it is, and there’s a great castle. And Liverpool isn’t far.” 

“Cool.” Marlene replies, and rests her head on his shoulder, which makes his already too-hot body temperature spike. Instead of jumping off the couch and flinging himself out the window, like his anxious brain would like him to, Remus relaxes against Marlene and tilts his head against hers, feeling her soft blonde hair under his cheek. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, just stare at the fireplace which seems somehow empty without the crackling flames in it. 

“Marls?” It’s a nickname he’s started using only recently, one that happened on the spot during Potions class, one that she hasn’t mentioned and one that he’s continued to use. 

“Yeah?” She turns her face up towards him. Marlene McKinnon is very pretty, with cool blue eyes, a cute nose that turns up at the end, and very soft looking lips.

“D’you mind if I kiss you?” Remus asks in a quiet voice, wondering if this solitary show of bravery is why he was sorted into Gryffindor. Marlene doesn’t respond to his question with words, she just twists further into him and moves those soft lips onto his and kisses him- sweetly, shyly, perfectly.

**s**

Sirius is enjoying the month of May monumentally. It’s warm outside, but not too hot, and classes are winding down in terms of content, but it isn’t time for revision season yet either. This gives Sirius plenty of free time to do whatever he wants, and this fine Friday afternoon, he’s agreed to a pickup Quidditch match with James. Sirius, James, and James’s second year friend Hyatt are playing as team Gryffindor. The other time consists of James’s Ravenclaw friends Katie and Elliott, and their own friend Melissa, a third year who flies as a seeker for their own team.

After eating a quick lunch, five of them had gathered together on the grounds and scavenged together brooms for the lot of them before heading down to the blissfully empty Quidditch pitch. Melissa had joined them after her afternoon double Divination period, and was clearly happy to get out of the stuffy tower and out onto the pitch. James hasn’t bothered Sirius too much with talk of the Quidditch cup, but the final match against Ravenclaw is in a week’s time, which will determine who will face off against Slytherin in the final in the first week of June. Hufflepuff’s team had been surprisingly weak this year, as their captain was an unlucky fifth year under enormous pressure with studying for O.W.Ls and obviously struggled when it came to balancing her workload and captaining a Quidditch team. 

Ravenclaw, however, had been giving an admirable effort when it came to Quidditch that year, and Sirius is half wondering if this innocent match is a tactic that James and Hyatt are using to pick up on the plays that the Ravenclaw Quidditch team might use in the final. They play all through the afternoon, without many signs of stopping anytime soon. Sirius can’t even check his pocket watch because he’s left it in his school robes, and he’s dressed for Quidditch, so he tries to assume the time of day by the light, but the sun doesn’t set until eight these days, and he isn’t sure if they’ll be stopping for dinner. Four out of the six of them playing are actually on Quidditch teams, and Sirius feels weak and out of practice compared to the rest of them. 

Still, he won’t be giving in anytime soon, and would play all night before complaining about wanting to stop.  Thankfully, Remus Lupin shows up to save him.

Sirius doesn’t see him at first, as he’s been assigned to play keeper and is having a tough time of it, since it requires immense concentration and fearlessness when it comes to throwing himself in front of heavy, quickly moving objects. But it becomes apparent when Remus climbs into the stands looking dazed and waves up at Sirius in a desperate sort of way. Elliott scores on him while he’s distracted, and Sirius is intensely relieved when Hyatt suggests stopping their game for dinner. The rest of them agree, thankfully, and Sirius is one of the first to touch the ground.

James and Hyatt are doing a few cool down laps and the Ravenclaws have left for the changing rooms, so Sirius stands by himself, leaning against his broomstick as Remus races down from the stands with a panicked look in his eyes.

“Alright?” Sirius asks as a form of greeting, and takes note of how pink his friend’s race is. “Something happen?” 

“Sure.” Remus replies, eyes on James. “I’ll wait until he lands.”

“Well come on, now you have me waiting in suspense. What’s up?” But Remus shakes his head and folds his arms stubbornly, eyes still set on James, who is taking forever to finish up. The quality of light has turned golden, and Remus’s hair and eyes glow with sunny warmth. The air smells thick, like fresh cut grass and blooming flowers (like Quidditch, to Sirius), and Sirius leans against his broom contentedly, side by side with his friend watching as James lands. 

“Wotcher, Remus, glad to see you’ve finally taken some interest in Quidditch!” James says loudly as he lands, much smoother than Sirius on his broom. Hyatt is right behind him. The older boy has bronzy brown skin, curly dark brown hair, and mischievous eyes. He lends James his water bottle, which James makes a right show of drinking out of. He’s worked up a sweat from practice and his dark skin shines in the light from the sunset, like a copper coin. Sirius wishes Peter or Lily were around with their cameras to capture the way everyone looks in the light, like they’re all straight out of storybook paintings.

“I have news.” Remus tells James in his quiet, stunned sort of way. James isn’t listening, and shouts his goodbyes to Hyatt as Sirius gets them walking back up towards the castle, eager to finally eat.

“What did you say?” James asks distractedly, finally turning back around to give his attention to Remus. 

“I have news.” Remus repeats.

“Well tell us!” Sirius interjects, anxious to know what his friend had come all the way out to the pitch to tell them. 

“Er.” Remus says stupidly, apparently having either forgotten his reasoning, or is suddenly too stricken by whatever happened to share. Sirius stares at him with the frustration of someone who’s been playing Quidditch against people much better than him for hours, and Remus finally lets it all out. “Well, I kissed Marlene, except maybe it was her who kissed me, because I asked, politely, you know, but she just went for it and-”

“You snogged her?” James asks loudly, and Remus’s face turns even redder, though Sirius had found it completely impossible. “Well done, Remus!” He thumps the boy on the back and Remus lets out a strangled sort of cough. “Who would’ve thought- our Remus having his first kiss before either of us?”

“What was it like?” Sirius asks with a little less conviction than James. Out of the four marauders, Sirius has the biggest ego and feels a strange rush of jealousy that comes with the news of Remus having his first kiss up in the dorms while he was flying about playing Quidditch. Bookish, quiet,  _ nerdy  _ Remus! Bloody hell. 

“Nice.” Seems to be the only word on Remus’s mind. He doesn’t seem to even know where he’s going, and relies on Sirius to steer him gently back towards the castle. “Soft, I guess. I dunno, I didn’t know whether to have my eyes open or closed, so that was a bit stressful, but it was nice. Marlene’s very nice.” He’s gotten all flustered and James laughs good naturedly, apparently very happy with the news.

“Good on you, mate. What happened after, then? Don’t tell me you two got all embarrassed and ran away.”

“Well, I thought about throwing myself out the window for a moment,” Remus says dryly and James laughs again, “but no. I mean, we were sitting for a bit and then Lily and Mary came down and asked if I wanted to go paint my nails or something, do some girly stuff with them in the dormitory, but I said no-”

“Said no to Lily and Mary wanting to do  _ girly stuff  _ with you?” Sirius demands, finally joining in on the humor. “Christ, Remus, you could’ve had all three of them at once! What a catch!”

“ _ Sirius! _ ” Both Remus and James shout in offended tones, but all three of them are grinning as they finally enter the castle, headed towards the Great Hall. 

“What? Could’ve had your chance!”

“I  _ had  _ my chance, and I took it!” Remus says in a braver voice than before, apparently defensive of the situation. “We can’t objectify them, they’re our friends.” 

“I would never objectify anyone.” Sirius says in a voice dripping with mocking solemness. “Except  _ him _ .” Remus suddenly loses his good humor and feels a tightening in his stomach when he sees a small dark figure hurrying along the hallway past them- a figure wearing telltale green fringed robes who could only be Severus Snape.

“Sirius, don’t.” Remus says in a low voice, not wanting bear witness to an unnecessarily awful fight.

“Snape! Where are you off to? Don’t tell me another bar of soap is chasing you.” Sirius calls out. Snape keeps walking, holding his back stiffly straight, and keeps walking as James calls after him-

“Not off to the greenhouses, are you Snivellus? I heard Professor Sprout was growing mushrooms on your face, is it time for her to harvest them?” 

“Christ, James-” Remus grabs his robes in vain, but James shakes him off thoughtlessly. “Don’t follow him-  _ don’t _ !” He says in a louder, more authoritative voice that gets James to stop in his tracks. “Come on, we don’t need to harass him every time he walks by.”

“We don’t?” Sirius asks while laughing, winking at James and turning back to get them back on track to the Great Hall. “I thought that was my destiny.”

“Right? Apparently there’s a prophecy out there about Snivellus being absolutely  _ condemned  _ to getting what he deserves.” James adds, but both him and Sirius duly note the upset expression on Remus’s face, and let up quickly. “Come on, I don’t know why you’re so keen to defend him.”

“I don’t know why you’re so keen to attack him.” Remus shoots back, rightfully. James gives Sirius a quizzical look, who just shrugs back at him. He hasn’t forgotten his conversation with Remus where the boy had voiced his deep seated guilt about their prank on Snape, and wonders if it would be for the benefit of everyone for James to understand his reasoning. None of their last interaction matters much, though, because they enter the Great Hall to see the trio of Lily, Mary, and Marlene sitting at the Gryffindor table, heads together in conversation. This proves to be a much more interesting thing to focus on than Snape, and Sirius moves on. Dinner is bound to be interesting.

**j**

Gryffindor wins the semifinal match against Ravenclaw and James feels giddy with delight. It seems unreal that his team, the team  _ he’s  _ on, has made it to the Quidditch final, and he only feels a little bad for overwhelming Sirius with great amounts of Quidditch talk. After all, he’s the only one who really understands what this means for James.

“Do you realize how bloody  _ brilliant  _ it would be if we won the cup in my first year? How historical? How legendary? This is fantastic. This is amazing!” James rambles on one night at dinner to Sirius and Peter, neither of whom look much interested in what he has to say. James has been down at the pitch every night for practice, hardly having time to revise for their final exams that take place in the coming weeks. 

“Mhmmm….” Sirius replies distractedly, propping his chin up with his hand as he gazes across the dining hall. 

“Remus, you love reading, why don’t you ever read about Quidditch?” James turns his attention to the third person on his list to bother tonight, and Remus gives him a decidedly fed up look from across the table. Poor Remus had gotten himself hexed by none other “Snivellus” Snape himself the previous week, and his lips (and possibly gums) had been torn to shreds, to the dismay of Marlene. They look scabby and disgusting, and Remus has only been eating soup for a week straight. The strain has started to wear down on him, and he doesn’t bother answering James before continuing his quiet, and private, conversation with Marlene.

Well, then. If they wanted to act that way, so be it. James finishes eating very quickly, careful not to show off his perfectly working mouth to Remus, and stands up with so much energy that he knocks his glass of pumpkin juice all over Peter’s plate.

“Oh, well.” Peter says sadly, watching his chicken swim in the orange drink. “Where are you going?” 

“Practice.” James replies snappily. He’s sure that the older students practice first and then eat much later, so they don’t have to take a break. It’s a more mature approach, one that James thinks he should start using, and strides off out of the hall without anyone saying goodbye. 

As he suspected, most of the team is down at the pitch, making the best of the day before the sun sets. Only Shelby and Rosa are missing, having apparently had other things to do, and James joins in their practice to get about an hour of good work in. To everyone’s surprise and delight, both Rosa and Shelby show up with about twenty minutes to spare, and Austin runs harsh drills with them while Yetta, James, and Hyatt go over their chasing plays. After they finish, Austin calls the seven of them together in the changing room for a pep talk.

“Alright, lads.” Austin has never changed his use of the word, despite the girls on the team, and James realizes with a pang that he’ll never play with Austin after this final match, as this is his final year at Hogwarts. “The pitch is booked solid for the Slytherins tomorrow, so this will be our last official practice together. This season has been a dream, really, and Yetta will be a fantastic captain for you next year.” Yetta puffs up with pride at this and beams sappily at Austin, who returns the look. 

“Oi, get a room.” Shelby jokes, earning a light punch on the arm from Yetta, who’s still blushing like there’s no tomorrow. Austin clears his throat and returns to his speech.

“Well, anyways. Quidditch cup. We haven’t won as long as I’ve been here, so this is  _ it,  _ okay? This is my last chance to win for Gryffindor, to make our house  _ proud.  _ I’ve been playing since second year, lads, and I’m not going down without a fight. We will crush those Slytherins into pulp, understand? And truly, I believe in each and every one of you. We’re going to win.” Austin seems to be getting a little misty eyed, which he thankfully seems to realize, and he clears his throat again. “I believe in all of you except Medlar, for god’s sakes, I hope to god you find a way to pull this win out of your arse-”

“Oh cram it, Lacework.” Shelby laughs goodnaturedly, taking it in stride. He’s not the best keeper out of all the teams, definitely not as good as Ravenclaw’s, but he’s done a good enough job to get them into the final. James looks around at his teammates and feels a fond, bittersweet feeling in his stomach. There’s Rosa and Dottie, best friends with twin personalities- fiery temperaments and biting humor. Shelby, stocky and blonde- often late, generally distracted, but at the end of the day, dependable. Yetta, of course, dark and tall and powerful- James’s saving grace. There’s Hyatt, the friendliest face on the team to young James, and of course, poor Austin who deserves this win more than anything. 

James isn’t all that worried. James is going to win for them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have u been feeling too lazy to listen to all the songs i put in here? cool, i feel that. here's a playlist with all of them bcz some of them really fit characters&chapters well and also they're all pretty fucking good:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zYrgwKxOeRdfe3U78PXm1?si=I-tNbWY6TxyifoDtYr87vw


	18. [YR 1] Kick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny bit of gore in this one during remus's chapter
> 
> lyrics from "kick" by spanish love songs

_ you know the truth in what they say, the world’s gonna kick you either way  _

**r**

Remus is woken up on the morning of June 10th to the increasingly familiar sound of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. He buries his face in his pillow, wishing that, for once, John Lennon would just shut  _ up.  _ Remus isn’t sure how early it is, he had been kept up late last night by James’s anxious ramblings about the match, and had tried to fall asleep to no avail while Sirius finally gave in and went over plays with James. It had been kind of Sirius, who has a decidedly extensive knowledge of Quidditch, to finally indulge the fanatically nervous James- and it had been a selfless act to get James to stop bothering Pete and most importantly Remus, who has no idea what he’s talking about.

Remus’s father is a Quidditch fan, he follows the Caerphilly Catapults and had made admirable attempts to interest his son in the sport, but had had no such luck in getting the boy to show any interest in Quidditch. It’s not like Remus hadn’t  _ tried  _ to be interested _ ,  _ he’ll try anything at least once, but sports have never quite stuck with him. 

This morning- sleepless and exhausted from tiring hours of revision, Remus groans loudly and winces when he feels his chapped lips stretch the scabs across his mouth. The full moon had come with dire consequences this month, and Remus had woken up with a mouth full of blood and badly shaking hands- splinters in his tongue and between his teeth. The sensation had been one of the worst feelings ever, probably, and Remus had sat and had a panic attack, unable to calm himself down, thinking over and over that  _ there’s splinters in my gums, oh my god there’s splinters in my gums.  _ Madam Pomfery seemed to take days to arrive, and when she did, Remus had been in hysterics- unable to speak, crimson blood mixing with the tears that were dripping down his jaw. 

Remus had lied to his friends about it, obviously, making up something about a hex that Snape had put on him. Still, his face has been aching all week and he’s limited to only eating liquids and soft stuff, which left his diet to mostly consist of soups, yogurt, and pudding. The scabs are getting better day by day, but Marlene obviously hasn’t been too willing to kiss him since the moon, and he’s been forced to rub petroleum jelly on his lips every few hours to keep them from getting crackly and nasty. 

“Would you please-?!” Remus shouts out of his pillow, too disoriented to finish his sentence. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. 

“Would I please  _ what _ ?” James calls back brashly. “What, Remus, huh? It’s not like it’s the most important day of my  _ life _ , not at all! No, sleep in, I don’t mind!” Remus thinks about why James might be up earlier than usual, which barely seems possible, and playing a record and singing along when it’s Saturday morning. Remus sits up, his hair messy and tangled, and squints his eyes open and then he realizes and remembers all at once. Their dorm is covered head to toe with everything Gryffindor.

There are dazzling streamers dangling from the ceiling, flashing floating lights all over the dorm, and what seems like endless confetti pouring out of a vent in the ceiling. All of it red and gold. James is standing at the foot of Remus’s bed with his arms outstretched in a perfect imitation of Sirius’s own wordless gestures.

“Wow.” Remus says. He’s speechless, honestly, and can’t think of an appropriate reaction to please James. For a terrifying fleeting moment, he wonders if he’s somehow slept all day long and they’ve won the match already, but there’s no sun in the window, which means it must be rising on the other side of the castle. “Wow, James, you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I’m thinking,” James starts, picking some gold confetti out of his hair, “that if I  _ manifest  _ a win, it’ll happen for sure.” His grin is so big and words so optimistic that Remus softens almost immediately, smiling as he wipes the confetti off his bedsheets. 

“That’s great, really, optimism is the best way to get… to get, to win….” Remus trails off when Sirius and Peter burst through the door of the dormitory with their arms full of glowing red and gold balloons. Sirius delivers a hefty kick to the ones in his arms, sending them scattered every which way over the dorm. Like the little lights floating around, the balloons stay off the ground and one of them heads straight for James’s head, drawing his hair away from his head with static. 

“Oh, brilliant, lads. Shall we go down for breakfast?” James turns his attention from Remus, who finally gets out of bed. His arms are bare since he overheats so much in the night, and he quickly finds a jumper to throw on. 

“James, you haven’t really  _ won  _ yet, you know.”

“Optimism, Lupin, like you said!” James is already talking like he’s on the Quidditch pitch. “Come on, get dressed, I want to see your reaction.” Remus doesn’t bother asking about what they’re going to gauge his reaction  _ to,  _ and he dresses quickly before following the three boys downstairs. 

The common room is even more decorated than their dormitory. 

“Oh, bloody hell.” Remus swears under his breath as they descend the staircase. He’s never seen so much dazzling red and gold all at once, and feels alarmed by all the banners and lights strung up every which way. Hyatt is hanging around with his second year friends and Shelby, one of the other boys on the team. They’re already in their Quidditch robes and seem to share James’s exact sentiments about the match- faces red and eyes bright with excitement.

Remus spends all of breakfast hearing talk of Quidditch and feeling more and more like he’s going crazy. Even Marlene has joined in on their chatter, and Remus has a very dry conversation with Mary and Lily, who also both seem a little overwhelmed by the immense amounts of house spirit taking place. Remus finds himself glad when they finally walk down to the pitch- the whole school is showing up for the match and it’s hard to get a good place in the stands when they’re so crowded.

Remus sits in between Sirius and Marlene, for reasons unknown to him, as both of them are having a heated debate about Quidditch teams over him as though he doesn’t exist. Marlene is talking about a Scottish team called the Montrose Magpies while Sirius is heatedly defending the Wimbourne Wasps.

“You two, shh!” Remus hisses as the teams stride out onto the pitch. He's not too interested in what's taking place, he just wants them to shut up at last. Sirius leaps to his feet and starts cheering at the top of his lungs for Gryffindor while Remus cowers in embarrassment. The commentator, still one of the Prewett twins, starts calling out the names of the Slytherin players. He moves on to Gryffindor and Remus smiles as he sees James gazing around the stands, looking incredibly small and nervous. He’s the youngest person playing and Remus feels a sense of pride, like that’s  _ his  _ friend down there. Fabian Prewett calls his name last- “Last but not least, our third chaser, first year James Potter!” Sirius is whooping and screaming cheers for his friend, joined by Peter, Mary, and Marlene, the latter of whom drags Remus to his feet to join in their ovation for James, who waves up at them quickly with a huge smile on his face before Madam Hooch calls the captains to the center of the field. 

The captains shake hands, step back, and look at Hooch for instructions. She counts down, blows her whistle, and the teams kick off. Remus almost immediately loses all sense of what’s happening. Prewett is cutting himself off in commentary because the match is moving so fast, and it seems that only a few minutes in, Sirius and Marlene are off their feet and cheering again. 

“Did we score?” Remus asks stupidly as Marlene sits back down next to him.

“Yes!” She’s very enthusiastic about it. “Pay attention!” Remus tries. Yetta Horn had scored for Gryffindor, but Slytherin scores almost right after, and the game stays fast- neck and neck until about an hour in, where Gryffindor slowly but surely starts pulling ahead. Remus has finally picked up on a semblance of what’s happening at this point, and joins in with the collective gasp that goes up when Austin Lacework, seeker for Gryffindor, goes into a soaring dive down the pitch. Remus himself sees the flicker of gold that means the snitch must be nearby, and watches the young Slytherin seeker chase him down.

“ _ Christ _ , he’s fast!” Sirius shouts, craning his neck to watch. “What broom is he on?”

“Looks like a Cleansweep four- blimey, he _is_ fast.” Marlene replies. They’re discussing the third year Slytherin seeker who’s very small but is right on Austin’s tail, and in fact, is moving faster than the older boy. “Oh god.” Marlene stands up, as do others, looking down in horror. On Marlene’s other side, Peter has his fingers jammed into his mouth and seems to be biting off all his nails as a result of the nerves. “Oh, christ, oh my god, oh jesus-” Marlene continues and both Remus and Sirius stand up. Prewett’s commentary roars above the loud crowd and Remus can only listen because watching has become much too painful.

“And Aurora has been trailing Lacework, following Gryffindor’s lead on the snitch, but it seems that Aurora is faster- they’re neck and neck, now, right beside each other but Aurora is pulling ahead, he’s bridged the gap- his hand is out, the snitch is right there- oh! Oh! He’s caught it! Brier Aurora’s caught the snitch, congratulations to Slytherin- they’ve won it all!”

**s**

James is inconsolable for the rest of the year. 

After the match, Sirius had sent Peter and Remus running back to the dorms to clean up all the Gryffindor decorations because he knows that James will see all of it and be moments away from bursting into tears. Sirius waits around outside the pitch for almost an hour, where James is one of the first to finally appear from the changing rooms, his face drawn and his eyes dark. Sirius walks with him back up to the common room and listens to everything he has to say- from James going over every flying move that he carefully thought out to most every word of Austin’s hour long speech that has obviously taken a great mental toll on poor, young James Potter. 

Sirius tries his best to comfort his friend, though it isn’t his strong suit, and he feels a rush of relief when they climb through the portrait hole to see that the bright and gaudy Gryffindor decorations have all been taken down. James drags himself up the stairs and throws himself into bed, unwilling to hear the words that any of his friends have to say.

It makes the rest of the year sort of a drag, honestly. Remus is busy revising for their final exams and spending time with Marlene, while Peter sticks to James’s side in a kind but misguided attempt to cheer his friend up. Sirius wants to play a prank to end off the year right, but none of his friends seem keen on hearing him out, so he experiences a rather boring end to first year. On the day before their last at school, Mary and Lily suggest having another football game and Sirius readily agrees. Sirius begs James to come down from their dorm to play, and the boy finally seems to see some clarity and gives in.

They spend their last afternoon together in the golden light of the grounds. Everyone is clearly relieved now that exams are over, and it seems that most everyone in their group except James is in rather good moods. Even Remus doesn’t seem to mind playing up until dinner, though he plays goalie for most of the game and flirts with Marlene who plays “defense”, which is her interpretation of hanging about by the goalpost. Still, Sirius knows he can’t complain. His team wins the game and they eat a boisterous dinner together afterwards. 

Sirius can’t describe how much he’ll miss this. He has Regulus at home, that much is true, but he’s grown so used to Hogwarts and spending most all of his waking moments surrounded by friends. They’re all natural, all at ease at dinner and Sirius tries to fix them in his mind as they are now. 

James: dark skinned, bright eyed, and unfailingly positive (unless he’s just lost the Quidditch cup, which isn’t something that happens often). There’s good old Remus, reliable and kind and smart and silly, when it comes down to it, next to fair haired Marlene who’s got quite a similar personality to Remus except she’s a little louder, makes her opinions a little better known, and has a much more extensive knowledge of Quidditch. Then there’s Marlene’s partner in crime, Mary MacDonald. Mary wears shiny gold earrings that flash when she talks and she’s always got something to talk about. She loves her friends and her family, and talks about them without any shame- the proudest muggleborn Sirius has ever met. She sits next to red haired Lily Evans who is brilliant and fair and funny. The sun has brought out her freckles, and Sirius briefly thinks she’s beautiful. Lastly, sitting right next to Sirius, is Peter Pettigrew, the most reliable friend of them all. 

They’re his group, Sirius thinks, and he’ll miss them more than anything. He’s too sentimental and gets worked up over stupid nostalgic things but he’s just content to share the last meal with them before they return to the common room. When it comes time for bed, the boys are all reluctant to enter their dormitory, knowing that it involves packing all their things up. James, the bastard, is perfectly organized and had apparently used some of his moping time to pack away most of his clothes and books. Remus goes to work on his records, gingerly placing them into a cardboard box and stuffing shirts and socks around them to make sure they won’t bend or warp in transit. 

“Come on, Remus, you don’t want to play one for us?” Sirius calls from across the room. The brown haired boy looks over at him curiously. “One last serenade for old times’ sake?” 

“Sure.” Remus replies, looking at his box of packed records, and then at the few left over on the floor. He picks up a familiar orange and brown cover, and flashes it at Sirius with a grin. “Kinks, then?”

“Kinks.” Sirius agrees. James’s record player is still out and sitting in its usual place, and Remus continues the now-familiar routine of setting the disc up and cranking the volume high. The first notes of Beautiful Delilah ring out and Ray Davies starts singing in his gritty, incomprehensible voice. It’s a fast song and James is already dancing around the dorm. His first victim is Sirius, who’s never learned how to dance to fast music, and is given up on rather quickly. He’ll nod along and watch, it suits him fine. James grabs Remus next, who laughs but indulges his friend. Remus can dance, though, and his fast footwork is a sight to see compared to James’s bopping and stumbling. Remus laughs loudly as James pushes their tightly knit hands back and forth across their chests. The song is only two minutes and ends with both of them breathless.

“Blimey, you can dance!” James says and Remus nods, still smiling a little bashfully, color high in his cheeks. The record keeps playing and they all dance a bit more, pack a bit more, chat a bit more. The record is an hour long and they play the whole thing. It’s one in the morning by the time anyone feels tired enough to mention it.

The four of them sit up in bed though, curtains of their beds open, with the lights glowing softly around their dormitory. It looks sadly empty, without the posters and pictures tacked up onto the walls, and Sirius feels an awful ache in his chest. 

“I’ll miss you lot.” Remus tells them quietly, voicing Sirius’s inner feelings, and he’s surprised when he bites back at his friend-

“Come on, don’t be so sentimental. We’re not girls.” So Remus closes his mouth and Sirius wonders why he said that, shutting down the words which express the same things he’s feeling. They talk a little longer into the night and it becomes apparent that all four of them are going to miss each other, just unable to say it out loud like Remus had tried to. Peter is the first to fall asleep, he always is, and then James won’t stop yawning, which makes Sirius and Remus yawn, and the three of them yawn themselves to sleep, finishing the end of their first year.

**j**

James always practices a little sort of meditation before going to sleep so he can rest easy. Sleep is important to him, since his schedule always seems to allow for so little of it, and he’s taken to imagining himself in a big countryside field in the English summer, lying in the grass, staring up at the big blue sky, watching the clouds pass overhead.

He lies in his bed and does just this, closing his eyes, taking deep breaths and imagining himself in a faraway place where he can fall asleep in the sun. This usually gets him to sleep in ten minutes at max, but tonight, he’s disturbed by a flicker of the curtains and the feeling of someone sitting on his feet.

“James!” Sirius whispers, and James groans, covering his face with both hands.

“I’m  _ meditating _ .” He whispers back. Sirius laughs, and James knows that he’ll have to wait a little longer to sleep. 

“Since when did you become a Buddhist?” Sirius demands, pulling back James’s bedsheets. The boy at the foot of his bed casts a silencing charm so as not to wake Peter or give Remus a chance to eavesdrop. 

“I’m  _ Indian,  _ not Thai.” James scoffs, sitting up and finding his glasses. “What’s up?” Neither of them have lit up their wands for light, and Sirius looks shadowy, dark, and unsettling. “Lumos.” James’s dark wand lights the air and he can see the worry on his friend’s face.

“I’m stupid.” Sirius responds.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m  _ sentimental _ , and it makes me feel stupid.” James regards him curiously. “I’ll just miss you, all of you, and I don’t know why I was rude to Remus about it because I feel the same. I just don’t want to go home.” Sirius’s voice grows quieter towards the end of his sentence, and he nearly hangs his head in shame. 

“That’s alright.” James has no trouble seeing a bright side. “You’ve got your brother, and we’ll all send you loads of letters, and it’s just two months and we’ll be right back together again. And next year will be even better, you can plan all sorts of pranks with the free time, and besides, we’ve got six more years!” 

“That’s true, imagine how sad I’ll be at the end of seventh.”

“I think we’ll be ready to leave by the end of seventh.” James muses thoughtfully. Sirius looks uncomfortable. 

“This is just… this is the best year I’ve ever had, you know? I don’t want things to change.”

“They won’t, mate.” James is more sure of this than anything. “We’re the marauders, there’s no changing us.” Sirius looks at him with a face devoid of amusement, which doesn’t happen often. James gives him more encouragement and their conversation shifts, as it usually does, to something different. And then they talk and talk, as though they’ll never get the chance to speak to each other ever again. Sirius is just so natural, such an easy person to talk to, and the two boys talk and laugh until dawn- James’s meditation and sleep all but forgotten. 


	19. [HOLS '72] Friends in Holy Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay... i know everyone writes remus as some awkward nerdy bookworm with no social skills BUT i honestly think he's the most badass one in the group and also i love him. he's my boy. 
> 
> some welsh stuff  
> \- butt = mate  
> \- iawn = fine, okay  
> \- landed = awesome, great  
> \- scram = scar
> 
> also sion is pronounced like sean jsyk
> 
> lyrics from "i have friends in holy spaces" by panic! at the disco

_take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain_

**r**

Remus Lupin has a good summer. 

It starts off well because he comes home and is greeted by a brown and white springer spaniel that his parents have named Luke. The dog is filled with endless energy and somewhat reminds Remus of James, in an endearing way. Remus’s parents hadn’t told him the true reason behind getting the dog, which had been Hope’s apparently endless struggle with depression. 

She’s been on and off with it since she was a teenager, and during her late teens and early twenties, the mental illness had essentially left her. Hope had been young and in love, getting her teaching certification at university, and everything had seemed to be working well for her. She had married Lyall young, and their relationship had been fiery and fun. There was nothing but love on her mind, and when she fell pregnant with Remus, both of them had been delighted. 

The depression had returned full force after her son was born. Hope didn’t understand it- she should have been so  _ happy  _ to have a perfect baby boy, but her chest had ached with a deep sadness every time Lyall carried Remus into the bedroom that she refused to leave. She wouldn’t feed him, Lyall had been forced to use formula, and all she did was sit in bed all day and cry. Cry cry cry. Remus had been such an easy baby-  _ he  _ hardly cried and always seemed to have a silly little smile on his face even when his mother was unable to develop a relationship with him.

Lyall had finally taken her to a doctor because it became clear she was unable to continue living this way. She had been diagnosed with depression (postpartum hadn’t yet been recognized) and given medication that made the sadness go away, along with every other emotion. The first year after Remus’s birth had been awful, but she had stabilized since then, up until Remus had been bitten. That night had caused an intense downfall in the relationship between Lyall and Hope, who has never fully trusted her husband since. Still, having Remus around as a child had made her happy, given her purpose, and once he had left for Hogwarts, Hope had once again felt the familiar, deep sorrow that seemingly came from nowhere.

Over Christmas she had spent lots of time lying in bed, hoping that her son wouldn’t notice anything wrong with her. He hadn’t seemed to, but she felt even worse when he had left again for school. Lyall, desperate for some way to help, had gone to work as usual one day, and had returned with a puppy. The next morning, Lyall had left for work as usual, and Hope had realized that the duty of caring for this silly creature had fallen on her. It had helped, having the dog around.

Remus bonds with Luke right away and spends his days taking the puppy on long walks around the village. The summer weather has proven to be nothing short of perfect and Remus surprises even himself by spending ample time outside. It’s on one of these long walks down a country road that Remus is reintroduced to his muggle friends. 

“Oi! Remus, is that you?” 

“Joseph?” Remus asks. Joseph is standing in the field with a hand shielding the sun from his vision. His blonde hair glints bright in the sunlight, and his face is red with a sunburn. 

“Alright, butt?” Joseph asks, striding down the hill towards him. Joseph’s dad owns a barely farm and his son had been standing amongst the plants, checking to see if they were ready to harvest. 

“Iawn.” Remus replies, feeling a bit uncomfortable with speaking Welsh in conversation again.

“Back from your fancy school?” 

“Yeah, for the summer.”

“Landed.” Joseph replies, coming up closer to him. Joseph had been Remus’s closest muggle friend at school. The boy isn’t the smartest, his parents are farmers, but he’s kind and funny and gives Remus a familiar gap toothed grin. “Nice dog.”

“Oh, yeah. His name’s Luke.” Joseph whistles and the dog runs up to him, wagging his little tail. Joseph leans down to scratch his ears and says something in the high pitched cutesy voice that people reserve for their pets. He straightens up and regards Remus again. 

“You’re here all summer, like?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to play football later?”

“Sure.”

“Cool.” And just like that, Remus’s friendship with Joseph is rekindled. He goes home for supper and afterwards walks back down the dirt road with his hands in his pockets as the sun dips lower in the sky. Joseph meets him at the end of the long driveway to his house and the two boys walk into town to meet up with two more boys. One of them Remus knows from school. His name is Stanley and he has heavy eyebrows and an unfortunate jewfro. He was one of the few Jewish kids in their class, and received his fair share of unnecessary teasing for it. Sion, the other boy, Remus has never met. He’s very mousy looking but once the four of them start their game of football, Remus understands that he’s very good at the sport. 

They play late into the evening, and only stop once the sun sets around 9:30. Joseph goes his way up the road and Stanley walks back towards downtown, leaving Remus and Sion walking back down the main road towards their houses. They stop to buy fizzy drinks in a badly lit Tesco. Remus fishes around in his pockets for money as they stand in the back of the store, and realizes with an odd feeling that he only has a few sickles on him. 

“Sion, I haven’t got any, er, money.” Remus stops himself before he slips up and says “muggle money”.

“That’s okay.” Sion replies quietly, looking at Remus wickedly. “We’ll just nick it.” And they do, they shove the cans in their pockets without anyone stopping them and Remus feels giddy and a little awful about it. It becomes routine, though, him and the three of them will hang out at night and Sion and him will stop by a store on their way home- nicking drinks, chocolates, ice lollies, and other little things that won’t be missed. 

Remus grows used to spending the day with the group. It’s like the newer version of the marauders. Joseph is easygoing and loudmouthed, always having something to talk about, and he takes them down to a field with his dad’s cricket bat to hit things into the sky: balls, tomatoes, cans, bits of wood, apples, and on one particularly exciting day- eggs. 

Stanley is funny and familiar. He’s always got a joke rolling off his tongue and keeps the boys laughing all night long. He has a big family and his absences don’t go noticed much at home. He drags them down to the leisure center to swim laps in the pool. The first time they went, Remus all but refused to swim. Both Stanley and Sion had been busy wreaking havoc in the shallow end of the pool while Joseph sat next to Remus at the edge of the pool and threatened to push him in. 

“Shove off, I’m not swimming.” Remus had said- his words mean but his tone lighthearted. 

“Don’t know how?”

“I know how.”

“Got scrammed, like?” Remus finally looks up at Joseph, whose warm blue eyes aren’t worried, just interested. “They’re on your arms, they’re on your face, it’s no mystery as to where else they are. We don’t care.” And they hadn’t. Remus had taken off his shirt and swam and none of them had paid any interest- no asking if someone had hurt him, no gawking, nothing at all. They’re small town boys and have their own scars to show for the scraps they’ve gotten into. Remus isn’t anything new. He loves how little they care. 

Sion doesn’t take them out to hit things in the field or to swim, he takes them to play football. He’s tall and fit and fast, and plays harder than any of the other boys. Whenever they finish a match, Remus will have bruised shins and be drenched in sweat. He wears t-shirts and shorts like a right muggle, scars out for the world to see, and no one cares.

One day, the four of them are mucking about in town, throwing things into the river Alyn that runs through the middle of Mold. The side of the river they walk on is where all the birds hang out, and the ground is covered in their shit. The clouds had been threatening rain all morning and as the group walk by the river, a downpour starts. 

Stanley swears, knowing that his already disastrous hair is going to be ruined by the explosion of rain, and runs for cover under a tree. Sion mimes shoving Joseph into the river, who starts chasing him in revenge, and pushes past Remus as they run down the length of the river, slipping and sliding on birdshit and rain. Remus pelts after them, laughing as he gets drenched, and is attacked by Stanley who abandons his cover of the tree. The shorter boy tackles Remus and they both slide along the stone, ending up in a shit covered heap on the ground, laughing as the rain keeps falling, down down down.

  
  


**s**

Sirius Black has a bad summer.

It’s okay at first because Remus writes him, and Mary writes him, and James sends him a card covered in Italian postage stamps with a very long and braggy update about what  _ he’s  _ been doing on his holiday. But Remus stops writing as much because he’s made new muggle friends and they’re having loads of fun, Mary stops writing as much because she has her old muggle friends and  _ they’re  _ having loads of fun, and James stops writing because he’s busy in Italy and post is expensive. 

Peter, bless his kind soul, had written Sirius a nice little letter at the beginning of the summer that Sirius still hasn’t responded to because he’s been too busy feeling sorry for himself. He doesn’t even remember how he managed to entertain himself for the eleven long years that he didn’t attend school, but he’s quickly losing his mind and one night, comes up with something incredibly exciting to do.

“Reg, I think we should rebel.” Sirius starts. The boys are sitting on their own respective beds across the room from each other, each with a book in front of their face. Sirius suspects that his younger brother is actually reading, but he himself is doing no such thing. Regulus lowers his book to reveal a worried expression on his face.

“Rebel?”

“Against the parents, you know. I think we should go all the way downtown- check out the sights.” Regulus looks petrified. “Big Ben, Tower of London, Buckingham Palace! Downing Street! Hyde Park?”

“What are you on about?” 

“Let’s go  _ out,  _ Reg. We can take the tube!” Regulus’s face has paled and his grey eyes are wide. “We need to get out! I mean, look at me, I’m so pale it’s horrific!”

“You’re always pale.”

“Right, but this is worse than ever. This is borderline criminal.”

“One day in London isn’t going to get you tan. A few weeks in Italy, maybe…”

“Come off it, Regulus, won’t this be fun?” Sirius puts on his pleading expression and Regulus gives in. He knows that Sirius will just go without him if he doesn’t agree, and so he does. He lets Sirius plan out their trip, and by the next day, Sirius has a plan all worked out. He has some muggle money that he had traded for galleons with Remus when his friend had paid an older student to buy him a present from Hogsmeade to give to Marlene for her birthday. He has these few pound and pence coins, and an old papery map of the city.

Sirius puts on his go-to muggle clothes- a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans that are on the verge of being bell bottoms, leftover from the late 60s. He brushes his long hair and admires himself in the mirror. He can’t wait to spend a day in muggle London. While Regulus hunts around for something to wear, Sirius creeps about the hallway to figure out where his mother is. She’s upstairs, apparently, and he can hear her banging away at a statue she’s creating. His father is at work, so they’ll be able to slip out of the house unnoticed.

Sirius returns to the bedroom to see Regulus wearing an awful frilly shirt and his own pair of bell bottoms.

“Christ, you look bizarre.” Sirius notes. Regulus stares up at him in worry.

“Do I?”

“Ah, well, who cares? It’s London- people wear what they want.”

“Okay…” Regulus now looks preoccupied about his own outfit but Sirius assures him it’s fine once more. The two boys don’t waste any time in leaving, and Sirius nearly skips with delight as they walk down the street into main Islington. Peter was right, all those months ago, the neighborhood is quite posh but Sirius isn’t bothered with it. He’s mostly excited for the tube. They pay for their train and get on the line towards Charing Cross. The cool tunnels of the Underground are fascinating to both boys, and they ride in neon silence towards inner London.

They get off at Charing Cross. The streets of London are grey and white and brown. The sky is a perfect light blue and the streets are bustling with people. Sirius leads them towards Trafalgar Square in a daze, taking in all of the sights around him. The fashion on the streets is wild- women with incredible feathered hair, wearing red skirts with green vests and orange boots, men with big moustaches and heavy sideburns in tight pants and daringly low cut patterned shirts. 

The square itself is tall and grand. The streets are full of bus stops, phone booths, cars and bikes and signs and flags- it’s incredible. Sirius has never had so much fun just walking the streets, and him and Regulus babble and point out everyday things to each other- tall red double decker buses (“like the Knight bus!”), ads posted high and low over buildings, and funny looking long and low cars that honk at each other in traffic.

Sirius has never felt this sort of excitement and fascination, and wonders if this is how it feels to be James Potter- eager just to exist in the place he’s at. They spend the day gawking at muggle landmarks and Sirius finds himself wondering over and over again where the wizarding discrimination for muggles comes from. They don’t have magic, but what’s the issue with that? They have so much fun, a wickedly modern culture, and Sirius can’t help but thinking he’d like to stay there a little longer. Magic is forgotten- the pressure of being pureblooded doesn’t even make  _ sense  _ here. Sirius would like to spend some time in the muggle world, he thinks. It’s just so nice to leave behind the world he’s always known. For a little while, it is. 

**j**

_ 1/7/1972 _

_ My lovely James, _

_ How’s Italy? Are you picking up any of the language? Let me know when you think you’ll be back, because I’m going crazy stuck in this house. We live in a muggle neighborhood which is stupid because my parents hate muggles, obviously, and they don’t want Reg and I going outside and “exposing ourselves” to their influences. So I’ve been spending most of my time inside and it’s absolutely positively mind numbingly boring. I’m sure Remus would tell me to read a book, but I don’t think I’ve stooped that low yet. Give it a few more days and who knows what I’ll be up to. _

_ Anyways, at least I’ll get to go to Diagon Alley with the family when it comes time to buy Regulus his things for school. He’s very excited about it, and wants to meet all of you. Maybe we can all meet there in August? Remus is very busy with his muggle friends and I don’t want to interrupt all their fun, and there’s a great number of things I’d rather do before paying Peter a visit. I’m getting to know the Lestranges well, though that’s not any consolation. Well, I’ll let you get back to your Italian fun. _

_ More later, _

_ Sirius  _

  
  


_ July 7th, 1972 _

_ Dear James,  _

_ How has your summer been? I’ve been having more fun than expected. My parents got a dog while I was gone, and his name is Luke. I’ve attached a picture because he’s very cute and he reminds me of you because he’s so excited all the time. I think my mum named him that because she wanted to call me Luke, but my dad won out with Remus. Sometimes I wish she had argued a little harder, you know? _

_ You’ll probably be pleased to know that I’ve picked up a bit of football back at home. My muggle friends love to play and I’ve really had no choice but to join them. It’s much more fun than quidditch. No heights to deal with. I’m sure you’ve learned all about football being in Italy- they’re massive fans there.  _

_ Speaking of Italy- which cities did you visit? In Rome, they have a bunch of creepy crypts you can look at with decorations (like chandeliers!) made out of bones. You should go, that would be lush. How’s the food there? I bet the pizza is great. Let me know if/when you’ll be in Diagon Alley to get things for school, it would be cool to meet up with everyone there. Enjoy your trip! _

_ Remus _

  
  


_ 16/7/1972 _

_ My one and only James, _

_ Guess what? I took a trip to downtown muggle London with Regulus (my mum didn’t know, obviously) and it was amazing. We should visit together some time- there’s so much to see and do. We took the tube, otherwise known as the underground, which is the train system. It’s underground, if you couldn’t tell by the name. The trains go through tunnels all over the city and the network is massively mental. We went and saw Buckingham Palace where the Queen and her little subjects live, and 10 Downing Street, which is like the Ministry of Magic for British muggles. The Prime Minister works (and may live?) there. Not quite sure on that. But you should have seen the clothes these muggles were wearing! They look like crazy partiers, but it’s the normal style for them.  _

_ Their shops are mental too, you should see all the things that the muggles buy without having magic. Who knew how interesting kitchen supply stores could be? Me and Reg found a store called B&Q where they sell paint and hardware and things like that, we could have spent all day there. After school ends, I think I’d like to live in the muggle part of a city, but actually be involved with them, you know? We hardly go out in Islington, which isn’t fair. Next I’m thinking I’ll floo up to Edinburgh, Marlene told me it’s a very cool city. And haunted. We can go ghost hunting! _

_ I don’t know how we got away with it, but my mother never even found out we left. Reg and I went to Diagon Alley so we could floo back home in case she caught us, but she hadn’t even noticed we had been gone _ _ all day _ _. She’s busy making a statue or a sculpture, I think. Our house is full of these decorations that she makes, but they’re all sort of gross. Over Christmas, she made a lamp using a troll’s leg. I’ll let you imagine the details on that one. Well, I haven’t got much else to say, but I’m thinking about writing Mary and seeing if she’d like to hang out in London sometime, now that I know how the tube works (a little, at least). I just need some more muggle money is all. Again, let me know about meeting in Diagon Alley! _

_ Until next,  _

_ Sirius  _

_ 30th July, 1972 _

_ Dear James, _

_ Have you been enjoying your summer? I bet Italy was fantastic, you’ll have to tell me all about it once we’re back at school. My family took a trip around Ireland since Belfast gets very dull after a while. Getting out of Northern Ireland was a bit scary, as The Troubles have gotten worse and the IRA is getting more violent up here. The border isn’t a nice place to hang about. Anyways, we spent a few days in this town on the southwest coast called Dingle, which was very nice. There are very high cliffs overlooking the water and we walked on them for hours. It’s very picturesque. _

_ We went to a Quidditch match in Kenmare which was very exciting! They were playing the Catapults and won, which was great. I root for the Bats, as you know, but since we were in town it made sense to support the home team. I’m not allowed to practice at home because we live in a flat and don’t have a yard or anything, so I can’t wait to get back to playing at Hogwarts. I just thought I’d write to see what you were up to! _

_ See you in September! _

_ Katie Robinson _

  
  


_ 2 Aug 72 _

_ Hello James! _

_ I’m glad to know Italy was great, those pictures looked wonderful. I’m sad to report that my summer has been very boring. I’ve gotten a job repairing broomsticks in the village, which is nice when it comes to having an income and learning  _ _ all  _ _ about broomsticks, but it’s tedious work after a while. Thanks for the birthday wishes, also, and speaking of broomsticks- I got a new one for my birthday! It’s a Cleansweep 4, so I can finally go as fast as the rest of you during games.  _

_ I’ve attached my essay for History of Magic that I did last summer, go ahead and copy it word for word if you like as Binns won’t know the difference. He’s been assigning the same essay over the summer for years (decades, probably. Or eons.) I hope the rest of your summer is a good one! I’ll see you in September. _

_ Cheers, _

_ Hyatt  _

  
  


_ 15/8/1972 _

_ Dearest Jamesy, _

_ I spent a day by myself in muggle London again last week, this time lounging about in parks. The weather has been suspiciously good here, and it’s very nice to sit around in the trees and people-watch. Seeing everyone back in their Hogwarts robes will be very dull compared to these crazy muggle fashions. I’ve bought myself a wild shirt to wear at parties, maybe. Just wait until my birthday ;) _

_ Anyways, I spent yesterday with Mary which was right fun. I met her friends, they’re very bright and loud and fun, lots like her. You can imagine. We ate fish and chips in a paper packet like really real muggles, I’ve never had it like that before, and it was very strange for me. I’ll see you next week in Diagon Alley!!! Very excited to actually spend time with the marauders after  _ _ months  _ _ away. Prepare yourself for meeting Regulus, he’s a bit of a nagger.  _

_ Peace and love, _

_ Sirius _


	20. [YR 2] Had A Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from "baby blue sedan" by modest mouse

_ and it’s hard to be a human being, and it’s harder as anything else.  _

_ and i’m lonesome when you’re around, and i’m never lonesome when i’m by myself. _

_ and i miss you when you’re around  _

**r**

Remus had been surprisingly sad to leave his friends behind when it came time to return to Hogwarts. He had promised that he’d be back over Christmas, and Easter, and for the whole summer again. Sion, the brightest out of the three, had asked if he could write Remus but Remus had been forced to tell him no, citing a very lame excuse about not really having a mail service there. 

Spending the summer with his new friends had caused him to take on a different sort of personality- acting less insecure and shy and more loud, purposeful, and confident. Yet when September 1st arrived, Remus found himself nervously making sure that all his scars were covered and that he looked presentable. He had grown his hair out longer over the summer and it fell over his eyes and curled down around his neck. Nowhere near as long as Sirius’s, but still long enough.

His arms and legs are tan from long days spent out in the sun, and the white scars on them look more prominent than ever now that he’s less pale. He covers them with a jumper, despite the warm weather, and understands that he’ll be forced to cover himself up again, since so many people at Hogwarts seem to have questions about the scars. Being a werewolf in the summer is much different than during the school year. He’ll feel ill and spend a few days at home and his friends will believe him when he tells them he’s fallen ill because it’s just something that  _ happens.  _ They don’t press because they believe him. His fresh wounds and bruises went unnoticed by them, and if they did ask, they believe his stories of falling or Luke playing too rough. It’s not something they worry about.

The Lupins use the floo to Diagon Alley but arrive late because Luke had to be walked, and Remus had forgotten his cauldron, and then the floo network was too busy so they had to wait nervously as the clock on the wall ticked closer to eleven. When they had finally gotten there, there had been no time for buses or the Underground, and Remus had been forced to try to get his hands on every bag of his so they could apparate to King’s Cross. They had been very, very late after all, and Remus had said the briefest of goodbyes to his parents before boarding the train, which seemed to depart only moments after he had gotten on.

Remus walks jerkily down the train, dragging his trunk and bags behind him as it picks up speed. He walks by carriage after carriage, not seeing any of his friends, and wondering what has become of them. Finally, he passes by one filled with familiar faces and feels a rush of relief. 

“Remus!” Squeals Marlene with delight, leaping to her feet, throwing back the glass sliding door, and nearly knocking him off his feet with a hug. It’s a long, nice one, and Remus breathes in the smell of her hair- a scent like jasmine, detergent, and for some strange reason, the smell of rain. Marlene pulls back and he sees the glow of a blush in her cheeks and blushes himself, happy to see her again. Lily, Mary, and an unfamiliar girl are also sitting in the carriage. 

“Hiya Remus!” Lily waves, and Mary gives him a familiar grin.

“Hi, how are you all?” Their responses involve choruses of “great!” and “never been better!” that make him smile. He’ll miss the boys at home, but he’s missed his magical girls too. 

“This is Dorcas Meadowes, by the way.” Mary introduces the unfamiliar girl, who extends a hand to Remus. She has olive toned skin and very wavy dark brown hair. “She’s in Hufflepuff.” Remus shakes her hand and gives her an easy smile, shockingly reminding himself of James. 

“Good to meet you, I’m Remus Lupin. Have any of you seen Sirius or James?” Mary jerks a thumb backwards.

“Last carriage, on the left. Hard to miss.”

“Cheers, Mary. I’ve got to go catch up with them, I have, but I’ll see you lot later.” They all seem satisfied with this, except Marlene, who slides the glass door shut and leaves her and Remus in the quiet hallway together. Her blue eyes are glowing and Remus finds himself nearly breathless with adoration.

“I was wondering where you were.” She says softly, bringing her soft hands up to touch his hair. “Didn’t want to miss you.”

“I made it, didn’t I?” Remus asks in the same gentle voice. Marlene’s face has lost the blush, she just looks perfect, with her long blonde hair illuminating her gorgeous eyes. She scrunches up her nose as she smiles and Remus leans forward, giving her a peck on the tip of her nose and then moving to her lips, giving her a genuine kiss that he knows the girls inside are watching. Marlene pulls back smiling, red faced with her tongue between her teeth. 

“I’ll see you later, then?”

“‘Course you will.” Marlene grins at him as he disappears down the train car, still laden with all his bags but feeling as if a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

**s**

Everyone has assumed that Remus has missed the train. He’s generally not the most punctual person and Sirius, for all his faults, is always on time no matter what. So Sirius finds himself oddly worried, wondering where his friend has gotten off to. Once the train starts moving, even James shares a worried glance with Sirius, who is desperately needing his friend’s calm presence. He taps and twirls his wand in his hands, trying to ignore the loud and screechy voices of the two younger siblings in the carriage: Regulus and Jasmine.

Jasmine, not unlike her older brother Peter, won’t stop talking. She keeps chattering on about what house she’d like to be in, what houses her sisters were in, what houses her parents were in, what happens on their first day at school, what happens on their second day of school, and so on. Sirius is beginning to think of moving to the car where Mary, Lily, and Marlene are, farther down the train, but he’s promised not to abandon Regulus and besides, James would be left to fend for himself.

Just when Regulus and Jasmine are getting into an argument about which is worse: Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, Remus Lupin appears in the door of their car. Sirius is so surprised and happy to see him that he could kiss him, and he’s out of his seat and hugging his friend before he can even pause to think about it. Remus is clearly surprised by the gesture of affection but hugs him back without any hesitation.

“Bloody hell, I thought you’d missed the train.” Sirius breathes, taking a quick step back to put some distance between the two of them. 

“And miss getting manhandled by you? Never.” Remus replies in a foreign tone, lifting his trunk to put on the shelf above them. He sounds different, looks different. His clothes are the same- a faded orange jumper with brown patches on the elbows and shabby trousers- but he’s a little taller, and a little fuller. His skin is darker from an abundance of sunshine, and the scars on his face look more faded and at place. And he has freckles. Not as many as Lily, who’s returned from summer holidays with a face absolutely full of them, but enough to be noticeable, and Sirius can’t help but stare. 

He sits back down and notices how comfortably Remus moves, telling Sirius to move over so he can take his usual seat next to the window. Sirius slides over and Remus sits down next to him, his presence warm and very tangible. Sirius is filled with relief to have him back by his side. 

“Remus, this is my brother, Regulus.” Sirius introduces, gesturing at the two of them. Reg is sat on the other side of Sirius, and gives Remus a confident hello. Sirius had told Reg to hold his head high and project an air of knowing what he was doing, but not enough to be cocky or arrogant. So far, Regulus has been walking a fine line between confident and haughty. 

“And you know Jasmine, from the party.” Peter puts in from the opposite side of the car. His younger sister has her hair done in twin blonde braids down her back, and flushes red when Remus says a kind hello to her. Remus picks up an easy conversation with James, who has all sorts of tales to tell about Italy. Remus recounts his own stories of the summer and the adventures he shared with his muggle friends. Even Peter has funny anecdotes to discuss from the time spent at his great Aunt’s house, and Sirius can’t help but feel oddly jealous of the three of them. He’s had his three days spent with the muggles in London, and tries to play them up for the benefit of his friends. Regulus has his cold eyes on him, though, and Sirius hopes that his own fables are entertaining enough for the present crowd.

The marauders fall back into their excited conversations as the train ride presses on. Sirius has missed them so much and is eternally grateful to be back in their company. As the day gets longer and the train moves farther north, the familiar excitement of returning to Hogwarts seems to return full force. When it becomes time for them to change into their robes for Hogwarts, Sirius doesn’t bother putting the full uniform on and puts his blazer on over his t-shirt, buttoning it and putting the black robes on top. Remus seems to agree with their apparent laziness, and pulls off his jumper to reveal a dark red shirt underneath. For no good reason at all, Jasmine makes a strangled squeaking sound.

“You’re changing  _ here?”  _ She asks in apparent shock. Her face has gone pink as she stares at Remus, who gives her a wide eyed expression while James and Sirius try to contain their laughter. 

“Er… no. I was just going to put my robes on over, like…” Remus looks genuinely worried about Jasmine, who is blushing so hard that Sirius starts to feel a bit bad for her.

“Oh!” The younger girl has gotten to her feet and looks around the carriage as the five boys watch her and try to keep themselves from laughing. “Sorry!” She barks a nervous laugh. “I’m going to…” Jasmine doesn’t finish her sentence, just grabs her robes and leaves the carriage in a hurry while Sirius and James burst into laughter. 

“Jesus, Pete, she’s really got it bad!” Even Peter looks embarrassed on behalf of her.

“I hope we’re close to school now, I can’t imagine her even coming back in here…” Peter mumbles, looking at his sister’s trunk. “Well, don’t make fun of her okay? She’s just got a bit of a crush.”

“You can say that again.” Remus replies, fixing his own black cloak over his muggle shirt and trousers. Regulus sees the older boys doing a half assed attempt at being in proper uniform and assumes that he can do the same, but Sirius notices and stops him. 

“Reg, you should dress properly for the sorting.” Regulus frowns at him, obviously not keen on having his brother tell him what to do, especially in a car filled with his cool friends. 

“ _ You _ aren’t!”

“I most certainly did last year! If you’re going to have the whole school watching you be sorted, you’ll want to look your best.” Sirius tells him, surprised at how oddly  _ mothering  _ he sounds. 

“Fine.” Regulus growls in agreement. He takes his leave in a much more respectable way than Jasmine had, and leaves their carriage with his head held high. Once the door slides shut behind him, the marauders are the only ones left in the carriage, looking around at each other with familiar expressions.

“Second year, lads!” James breaks the silence with his own never ending excitement. “Let’s make it the best!” 

It’s not as though their second year at Hogwarts gets off to a particularly smashing start. Regulus, a still blushing Jasmine, and the rest of the first years are herded by Hagrid to the lake while the rest of the students climb into carriages that are drawn to the school by what seems like absolutely nothing. Sirius had squinted at the darkness in front of their carriage, wondering if the horses were just very dark, or something stupid of the sort, but he came to realize that there was nothing but thin air pulling them. 

Once back at school, Sirius is filled with a wonderful warmth as they enter the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling is clear as ever, with constellations spiraling up into the depths. Light in the hall always seems to take on a golden quality, and the hundreds of floating, flickering candles make the place glow with warmth. The Gryffindor table is alight with chatter and Sirius is happy to see the trio of girls rejoin them, all of them wearing their required pointed hats for the Welcoming Feast. 

And then the sorting begins. The nervous looking first years are marched through the hall and Sirius catches Regulus’s eye. His brother is pale faced but he delivers a confident smile to Sirius, and Sirius winks back at him. Jasmine is farther down the line and is whispering to a plain looking girl with her dirty blonde hair tied in pigtails. 

McGonagall starts calling the names of students to be sorted, and Sirius pays close attention.

“Albatross, Charlie!” Is a brown haired boy with ears that stick out. He’s sorted into Gryffindor and Sirius claps and cheers with his table as the excited looking boy steps down and towards their table.

“Antwork, Wren!” Is sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Asche, Aileen!” Hufflepuff- her hair is short and blonde and Sirius realizes that she must be Archie Asche’s younger sister. 

“Black, Regulus!” Sirius pays studious attention as his younger brother approaches the hat and sits down with his back straight- posture as perfect as Walburga would have hoped- and gives Sirius a small half smile before tilting his chin up as McGonagall places the hat on his head. The hat thinks, Regulus thinks, Sirius thinks. After about a minute, the hat makes up its mind.

“Better be Slytherin!” The Slytherin table erupts in loud cheers and Sirius smiles despite himself, clapping just as loud as his baby brother flushes with pride and walks to the opposite side of the hall where he’s greeted by his new classmates. Sirius is happy for him, honestly. Regulus has always been the favorite child and it’s no surprise that he’s been sorted into the family’s house. They’ll be proud of him. Sirius is glad that his brother won’t have to go through what he did- with howlers and nasty letters, cold and distant looks from his parents, awkward conversations with the family. Regulus won’t be a stranger to them. He’ll stay their best son.

Sirius only really pays attention to see Jasmine Pettigrew sorted. Like her brother, the hat seems to have some trouble with her. It takes a few minutes for it to come to a decision, though not long enough to be a hatstall, and declares her to be a Hufflepuff. Similar to Sirius, Peter still claps and cheers for his sister though she’s been sorted into a different house, and she gives him a wave as she sits down at the yellow-decorated table.

After the last first years are sorted, Dumbledore makes a little speech that causes him to sound a little mad in the head, and then the food appears. Sirius had been eagerly awaiting the food. He gets fed at home, granted, but meals with his parents usually end in fights and he avoids them as best as possible, usually getting around one square meal a day, sometimes more (when Regulus brings him something), and often less (when he’s locked in his room). Sirius had been oddly self conscious on the train ride, understanding how underfed and pale he looked compared to his friends. And there were fading bruises of course, tucked away under his robes but aching all the same. Always aching.

The feast is impressively grand. There’s roast chicken and beef, pork and lamb chops, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, jacket potatoes, (Sirius is always impressed by the quality and quantity of potatoes at Hogwarts meals) Yorkshire pudding, sausages, carrots, gravy, and pies. Sirius eats with great energy, and doesn’t even realize how fast he’s going until Mary tells him that he’ll choke if he keeps wolfing down his food. 

“Don’t they feed you at the prestigious Black palace?” Lily jokes from across the table.

“Sure, if you count cockroaches and spiders as food.” Sirius shoots back. “They load up our plates with all sorts of creepy crawlies, I’ve never been one for exoskeletal dishes but the way they  _ crunch _ -”

“Ew, Black!” Lily squeals, scrunching her nose in disgust. “Forget I asked!” The rest of their feast is spent joking and catching up with each other, getting back into their old routines at Hogwarts.

**j**

Remus had taken great lengths to return to school with an incredible selection of music for them to listen to. Apparently, his father has a massive collection of vinyl and is quite up to date with the modern sort of rock and roll, so Remus does them all a favor by putting on a record new to them- one titled “Styx”, of the self titled variety. It’s a pretty short record but the music is overwhelmingly American, and the vocals along with the soaring guitar solos get the three of them hooked. Remus, as always, looks pleased with himself at their enjoyment of his music, and James is reminded of how  _ cool  _ Remus is. 

He can be quite (very, honestly) awkward at times, and stammers when he talks about himself, but he’s essentially got a girlfriend, and has a very rock and roll attitude. And a passion, of course, for music itself. It’s something that he and Sirius seem to share, and they could talk about Remus’s records for hours. 

Once the four of them go to bed around midnight, James gets right to meditating so he can be up bright and early the next day, but is stopped by the familiar arrival of the one and only Sirius Black. 

“Ugh.” James groans as Sirius casts lumos, lighting the two of them by magic. He casts a silencing charm and then sits on James’s feet, causing the other boy to draw his knees up to his chest and look around for his glasses, feeling a moment of deja vu. “To what do I owe  _ this  _ pleasure?” He asks tiredly, looking across at Sirius.

“I have a gift for you.” Sirius announces. James frowns. It’s not as though Sirius is selfish, he’s just a bit egotistical is all, and James finds himself expecting less of a gift and more of a practical joke from his best friend. But Sirius is obviously, well,  _ serious  _ about the present. He has a bundle of cloth in his hands, which he unwraps to show James two small mirrors. They look like compacts, and the edges around the mirror glow with silvery magic. “Like your cloak, these are family heirlooms. And I’m trusting this to you because you’re my best mate. So please be careful with it.”

“Of course.” James is focused more on the mirror and less on Sirius’s words. 

“So don’t break it, or lose it.”

“I won’t.” Sirius takes a long look at James before handing the mirror to him. At first, it just seems like an ordinary compact mirror, but when James looks into it, he doesn’t see his own face. He sees Sirius’s face. “Oh wow!” His own tinny voice echoes back out of Sirius’s mirror, who holds it up with a grin. 

“They’re two way mirrors.” Sirius explains, his own voice sounding out of James’s mirror. “So we can keep in contact easily, you know.”

“So I won’t have to get five thousand letters from you over the summer?” James jokes, but Sirius looks a bit hurt. This gift is obviously very special to him. “This is fantastic, thank you.” James shifts his tone to a more appreciative one, and Sirius nods, holding his own compact close to him. 

“You’ll keep it with you?” He asks from the foot of the bed.

“Always.” James replies. 


	21. [YR 2] Force Field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyric from "human interaction" by tonight alive

_ i will be better, i will _

**r**

Second year proves to be none the more exciting than first year was. Timetables are handed out at breakfast by prefects and Remus is a bit suspect at how easy their schedule seems to be. They have free periods every single morning, two in a row on Monday, and while Sirius will celebrate at this opportunity to lie in, Remus wonders if this means their coursework will get harder.

“Oh, most definitely.” Hyatt Ibex says when Remus asks him about it. James’s Quidditch mate is now a third year and can look back on the two previous years to give some advice on what to expect. “First year is just introductory stuff. They pick up on content second year, and then give you a bunch of classes third year. Enjoy this while it lasts.” Hyatt seems to be telling the truth, and Remus is overwhelmed during their first week of classes. 

In Transfiguration, McGonagall only reviews their previous topics very briefly before getting started with new content. She gives them a lesson on turning mice into snuff boxes and sets them to work on it throughout the week. James and Sirius are both quite good at transfigurations, especially James, and they complete the lesson on the second day but Remus can’t, for the life of him, get rid of the tail that seems to linger on the box.

In Herbology, they learn about the Gurdyroot and the tedious extraction process. When Professor Sprout gives a hands-on lesson about the Alihotsy plant (otherwise known as the Hyena tree), Sirius pockets a few of the leaves with a downright wicked expression on his face. Remus doesn’t know what exactly his plan for them is, but if it doesn’t involve poisoning him, then he’s not too worried. In History of Magic, they learn about the Soap Blizzard of 1378, which puts most of the class to sleep except Remus, who tries his best to take notes despite the incredible dryness of the topic. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of Remus’s favorite topics, and he had genuinely enjoyed the lessons given by Professor Weaver, and is let down when he meets their new professor, a very hassled looking woman named Alena Wivern. When a brave Hufflepuff boy asks about what had happened to their old professor, Wivern had paled, said something about a witch hunt, had a coughing fit, and then had taken ten points from Hufflepuff for being meddling. She gives them lessons about famous dark wizards and teaches them no practical magic, not even mentioning it on the syllabus, and essentially turns their class into a second version of History of Magic, just with a less charismatic professor. Which is definitely saying something.

Remus has most trouble with Potions. In their first class period, Slughorn spends the majority of it calling out students and asking after their families. Thankfully, he has nothing to say about Remus, but inquires about the Black family and James’s dad’s business- which so happens to be in potion making.

“Your dad makes  _ potions _ ? How are you so awful at it?” Remus whispers to his friend during class, sitting at the next table over. James looks uncomfortable as Sirius laughs in the background.

“He makes  _ one  _ potion.” James responds uncomfortably. “A hair potion.” 

“If you say so.” Remus says haughtily, leaning back to his own table, where he and Peter are attempting to brew a Wiggenweld Potion. It’s not very hard, necessarily, but there’s a very long list of steps and ingredients that both boys are having trouble keeping up with. By the end of the class, Slughorn has collected vials from every cauldron except theirs. Their potion has gone a very awful yellow color that resembles pus and smells worse. Their professor stares down into the cauldron with a disdainful expression on his broad face.

“Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, I take it you two haven’t been brushing up on your potions over the summer?” He asks. Slughorn is kind enough, he does do his job as a professor quite well, but Remus feels entirely useless when it comes to the subject.

“I’m sorry professor, we did try.” Remus explains pathetically. Most of the class has cleared out, but a few students have stayed behind to finish packing up their supplies. 

“I’m afraid you boys will need to try harder. It’s only the first week, so I’ll give you until October, but if your efforts don’t improve, I’ll be forced to enroll you in remedial potions.” Both Peter and Remus exchange horrified looks with each other. “And we don’t want that, do we?” 

“No, we don’t.” Remus replies quickly, looking up into his professor’s concerned eyes. 

“In that case… why don’t I have some classmates help you out?” Remus curses Slughorn mentally as the professor looks around the room and spots two Slytherins clearing up their cauldrons. “Mr. Mulciber, Mr. Snape! You two are proficient at potions, how would you feel about helping your classmates with their work?” Remus can hear Peter gulp next to him, and wonders which one of the Slytherins his friend would rather work with. Snape’s dark eyes glitter nervously and Remus takes a deep breath, reminding himself of the easy kindness of Joseph and Sion and Stanley, reminding himself to be  _ better.  _

Snape and Erwin Mulciber, a brown haired boy with a permanent sneer on his face, slowly move over to their table. 

“Mr. Snape, you and Mr. Lupin can work together. Mr. Mulciber, you can help Mr. Pettigrew. I’ll make that twenty points for Slytherin for your efforts.” Slughorn is the head of Slytherin house and Remus wonders how fair it is to be giving out points so freely to your own house. McGonagall, head of Gryffindor, has taken hundreds of points from her own house due to James and Sirius, so she obviously doesn’t feel too strongly about winning the house cup. Slytherin had won the previous year due to the extra points of the Quidditch cup, but winning it only really gives bragging rights, and Remus hadn’t minded too much. 

“Great, professor, thanks.” Remus is the first to speak up after their assignments are announced, and Slughorn looks pleased with himself before telling them to clear up. Peter takes one look at the leering Mulciber and tells Remus that he’ll meet him in the hallway. Remus cleans out his cauldron as fast as possible, wishing to god that he knew how to cast a cleaning charm, and follows Peter out with Snape on his heels.

“Lupin.” His reedy voice surprises Remus, who turns around once he’s left the classroom. Snape stands behind him looking pale and greasy. He never changes.

“Hi.” Remus can’t think of much else to say. Snape doesn’t seem to either, and Remus wonders why the boy called his name in the first place. “Should we work on potions tomorrow, then?” Snape looks completely taken aback.

“You didn’t think I was really going to tutor you?” Remus falls back, not knowing what to think. “Me, helping  _ you _ , for house points?”

“Well, Slughorn isn’t keen on  _ paying  _ you.” Remus retorts. 

“Do you  _ want  _ me to tutor you?” Snape asks, putting Remus’s ego in question. He’s had to remind himself over and over that he isn't James or Sirius, who would have scoffed in Snape’s face and insulted him by now. Snape doesn’t even look so angry, just a bit worried, and rightfully nervous. But Remus isn’t going to bully him.

“I’m dreadful at potions, and you’re really good.” Remus hopes that a compliment will help, but Snape remains silent. That hadn’t been an answer. “Yes, I guess. I’d appreciate it.” Snape nods as though this was something he had expected, but he doesn’t say anything rude.

“We can work tomorrow then. Slughorn’s room is free tomorrow at eleven, should we meet then?” The second years don’t have any classes on Fridays- Remus privately assumes that their workload will increase tenfold over the year and this day will come in handy for studying- and the time works just fine for him.

“Sure, fine. See you then, I suppose.” Snape doesn’t reply to him and strides off down the hallway with his robes flying behind him. Remus can’t help but feel a sinking in his stomach, like Snape will try pulling something on him. But maybe that’s his own paranoia speaking.  _ Be better,  _ he remembers. He’s trying.

**s**

On September 21st, Snape shoves Sirius in the halls. This is something that happens between the two of them quite often, they’ll knock shoulders or trip each other or whisper a hastily thought-up and usually ridiculous insult whenever they see each other, but on this Thursday afternoon, Sirius has had enough.

It had been a long and grueling afternoon Potions class, one that Sirius had left with a shirt soaked in Bubotuber pus. Exhausted from a long day and not looking forward to his writing his essay for History- one about what could have been done differently to prevent the Soap Blizzard of 1378- Sirius had been considering only momentarily the option of walking away from Snape after the other boy shoulder-checked him in the hallway. Only momentarily, mind you. 

“Don’t touch me, Snivellus.” Sirius growls after Snape, who pauses with his back turned. “Oh, look, you’ve left a grease stain!” Snape turns at that and Sirius only hears Remus sigh heavily in the back of his mind. Besides, he doesn’t make any move to stop Sirius. 

“Poor Black, it must be hard for you.” Snape teases as he moves a little closer to the perplexed Sirius. “You should hear the praises everyone is singing about Regulus, the new heir of the Black family. It’s almost like they’ve forgotten about you! They’re calling Reg an only child now!” Sirius didn’t know what had really done it, hearing Snape’s comments about his own family or the nickname that only Sirius had been using for his younger brother since they were little, but his tiredness wins out and without another thought, he’s thrown himself at Snape. 

“Sirius!” Someone calls, maybe Remus or Peter, but Sirius doesn’t hear him. His need for a wand seems to prove futile and he throws a badly aimed and executed punch at the Slytherin boy. The punch connects, not with Snape’s hooked nose but with his mouth. Sirius mashes his lips back against his teeth and splits them. Snape doesn’t go down that easily, though, and shoves Sirius back against a wall hard enough for his head to bang hard against the stone.

“You greasy  _ git _ .” Sirius delivers a well placed kick to Snape’s gut and the other boy doubles over, groaning. His split lip is bleeding, and he spits blood onto the floor. Sirius triumphs only momentarily before James pulls him away, tugging him by his robes. “Let go-” 

“Slughorn is coming right now. I’ll cover for you.” James says and Sirius takes one look at Snape, still holding his stomach, and at the stairwell down to the dungeons. And then he runs. Most professors are busy teaching classes at the moment so Sirius doesn’t run the risk of crashing into McGonagall, and he puts on a burst of speed as he heads for the Gryffindor tower, hoping to find James’s invisibility cloak in the dorm and hide under his bed until the end of time. 

And he almost makes it. He really does. Sirius bellows the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady as he careens down the hall and nearly slams into her when she doesn’t open up the portrait hole.

“Watch out!” The lady in the portrait shouts as Sirius backs up from her painting, panting like a dog. “I can’t risk you smudging my paint!”

“D-densaugeo.” Sirius pants, bending over to put his hands on his knees. When he stands up, the portrait hole is still closed. The Fat Lady looks at him reproachfully. “Well? Did I say it wrong? Densaugeo!” 

“Mr. Black, I’m afraid that’s not the password anymore.” Sirius stares at her wide-eyed. Of course it isn’t the password, they’re second years now. Sirius had  _ known  _ the password, but he always seems to be in the company of other people with better memories than him when returning to the common room.

“Er…” Sirius knows that the longer he stands in the hall, the more time he’s giving Slughorn to capture and promptly punish him. “God damn, I don’t know. Can’t you let me in? You know my  _ name,  _ you know I’m in Gryffindor, you know me! You love me!” The Fat Lady has been picking grapes off of a bunch and eating them one by one, and now turns her sour expression back onto him.

“No password, no entry.”

“Buggering  _ christ _ !” Sirius knows it’s the name of some sort of dastardly plant but it’s a tongue twister and he can’t, for the life of him, remember what it’s called. “Mimbulus… mimble… mimblementia? Can I get points for trying?” No response from the Fat Lady. “What do you want from me?!” He demands pathetically.

“The password, Mr. Black…” The Fat Lady is cut off when her portrait swings open from behind, revealing a highly amused looking Lily Evans standing behind it. Her hands are on her hips and her dark red hair looks like a flame in the golden afternoon light.

“Come in, then. You were making a right racket out here.”

“God bless you, Evans.” Sirius breathes in relief, climbing through the portrait hole. He’s momentarily forgotten why he was having a go at the portrait, and is stuck with remembering that he’s supposed to be hiding under his bed at the moment- invisible. “Iiii’ve got to get upstairs.” Sirius says, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Cheers!” He dashes up the stairs, but Lily calls after him before he can reach the door.

“Well, don’t you want the new password?” She shouts in exasperation. Sirius mentally face palms, and creeps down the stairs enough so they can see each other.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Lily looks irritated.

“It’s mimbulus mimbletonia. Try saying that five times fast.” 

“What a shite password. Thanks, Evans.” Sirius gives her a familiar grin and then turns to race back upstairs, hearing her voice yell behind him-

“What on earth are you running from anyways?” 

**j**

“He’s my friend! He’s my friend and I don’t know why you torture him so!” Lily Evans is on a tirade, pacing back and forth and shouting at James. Sirius is serving his first detention of the week, having been assigned a full two weeks of punishment. Due to his absence, James has been the one that the blame has fallen on. They’re sitting in the common room after dinner, where Lily had grown more and more heated before she dragged James and Peter upstairs to yell at them with less of an audience.

Still, Mary and Marlene sit and watch in silence. And there’s the rest of the Gryffindors in the common room, casually pretending that they have other things to do when it’s obvious that they’re eavesdropping. After all, it’s hard not to. 

“To be fair and honest, Sirius was the one who fought him. Not me.”

“He kicked him in the  _ stomach _ !” Lily shouts. James and Peter wince in unison. “He split his  _ lip! _ ” 

“And he’s in detention.” James understands that Lily is upset, but doesn’t get why she has to take it all out on him. Peter isn’t going to stand up for himself, that much is clear. 

“None of this would have happened if you two weren’t so awful to him- hexing him and insulting him and cursing him, I just don’t understand it. Give me one good reason why he deserves that sort of treatment!” Lily fumes, her face as red as her hair. She’s pacing back and forth, and all of them watch her walk up and down the room. James stammers, trying to come up with something, anything, but his mind is blank. Lily stops her pacing and puts her hands on her hips, angry and burning, and James is terrified.

“He’s, well, he’s quite rude, don’t you think?” He offers, and sees Lily’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“Probably because you two torment him every time you see him! You deserve every insult he gives you!”

“He’s made fun of Remus for no reason, and we love our Remus.”

“And if Remus punched him, maybe it would be a little more justified, but Remus is the kindest out of the four of you! Maybe you should take a lesson from him!” Lily shouts. Remus, consequentially, isn’t even there to hear the argument. He’s in one of his moods, and spoke briefly to Marlene at dinner before heading up to the dorms to presumably do schoolwork or sulk about and turn in early. 

“Evans, I think this is a conversation better reserved for Black.” 

“Don’t patronize me!” Shrieks Lily, making Mary dissolve in giggles. “I  _ will _ have this conversation with Black, and I hope you will act a little nicer from now on!” James has had enough, and messes with his hair before making a show of standing up.

“Okay, Evans. I’m going to bed.” Lily makes an incredulous noise of anger, and throws her hands up in an ‘I give up’ motion as James strides up the stairs.

“Be a better person!” She screams after him, James drowning her out by slamming the door to their dorm. Remus jumps in surprise. The boy is sitting in the windowsill, working on a complicated chart propped on the textbook in front of him. His amber eyes are wary, and James feels a bit bad for interrupting his study time.

“Women.” James comments disgracefully. Remus half nods, looks his friend up and down, and then turns back to the essay. “Alright then, Remus?”

“Fine.” Remus says shortly.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

“Herbology.” James knows that he’s being insufferable, but can’t seem to bring himself to stop. 

“Don’t tell me you’re angry with me too?” Remus looks up at him with a very annoyed expression on his scarred face.

“I’m not. I’m not angry, I’m just trying to work.”

“Yeah, but you’re upset.” Remus had picked up his quill again and sets it down so hard that he knocks the inkwell over. “Oh, sorry-” James hurries over to help clean it up but one look from Remus has him stopped in his tracks. He watches in tense silence as the boy cleans up the dark ink and heaves a great sigh as he looks back over at James.

“I’m just tired, I am. I need to get this done.” The Welsh accent has crept back into Remus’s voice over the summer, and it comes back around when he gets short with people. James chooses not to hear him.

“You’re not upset about your mum, are you?” This is Remus Lupin’s final straw. Whenever someone mentions his mum, Remus gets unbelievably tetchy, which leads James to the conclusion that she’s probably dying, or Remus is upset at being caught so deep in his own lie. 

“My mum is fine, I’m fine, everything is  _ fine,  _ James, please just leave me alone! Go back downstairs, or don’t, I don’t care- just don’t talk to me! Let me work!” Remus shouts, the anger in his voice building up. James creeps back towards his four poster, but the tension in the room is palpable and he sighs dramatically, wishing that Sirius were there. Even Peter seems to have enough sense to stay downstairs. James would have left the dorm ages ago, he wouldn’t have even come up in the first place, but there’s nothing he wants less than to hear Lily scream at him even more for something that isn’t his fault. 

“Shall I put on a record? There’s always the Beatles, and we haven’t done Yes in a while-”

“Fuck  _ off _ !” Remus shouts, shocking James to the core. His friend’s voice had broken when he yelled, and James is doubly surprised to see tears in his eyes. “Just go away, James, please, just leave!” There’s no longer any excuse to stay in the dorm, and James doesn’t say anything else. He turns and creeps back down the stairs, resolving to apologize to Lily and wait until Sirius returns from detention to finally go to bed. 


	22. [YR 2] Genuine and Unprepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics from brooklyn (if you see something, say something) by taking back sunday

_ you’re better off believing everything you heard was true  _

**r**

Remus wants to hide forever.

He’s spent two days in the hospital wing recovering from the full moon, and by the third, Madam Pomfrey has picked up on the fact that although he’s physically fine, he’s mentally not ready to leave the quiet confines of the infirmary. 

He has Astronomy on Monday nights, now instead of Wednesdays, and knows that his friends will all be hanging about in the common room like usual. Maybe he could show up and talk with Marlene, avoiding the fuss that James is bound to make, but he’d rather not. There’s not much that Remus feels up to doing, but sitting in the common room with his friends is definitely not one of them. 

The full moon had been awful. The entire day before, Remus’s temper had grown shorter and shorter as his body had been full of aches and pains. By that evening, he had been hiding in the dorm room because everything hurt so badly and the headache behind his eyes was beginning to make his vision blurry. Then the shouting downstairs had stopped, blessedly, and James Potter had relocated from causing chaos downstairs to causing it upstairs. His questions had brought waves of anxiety to Remus, who  _ needed _ to be left alone, and it had become completely unbearable- a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe. So he had cursed and shouted and cried, for Merlin’s sake, he gotten all teary eyed in front of James. 

The night had gotten worse when Remus had been forced to descend the stairs in an extremely shaky manner under the watchful eye of all of his friends, save Sirius. Marlene had asked if he was alright and he had said yes. No one had asked where he was going, and no one followed. The moon had torn him apart and he had woken up with a broken arm, a sprained ankle, and two cracked molars. Not to mention a massive bruise on his upper arm that still aches. So he had rested and recovered for a day, then two, and now three. And Madam Pomfrey has had enough.

“Remus, my dear boy, I do think that you’re fine to leave now.” She says in a kindly but firm voice to the boy. His face is still pale from the pain of the transformation, but she knows that he’s been biding his time in the infirmary. “Aren’t your friends worried?” Remus always seems to be surrounded by friendly faces when she sees him around the castle.

“Er… well, I had a bit of a row with my mate.” It hadn’t been a row. It had been Remus swearing at him and James not arguing back. It had made Remus feel awful.

“Well, it’s better to make up than to leave it.” Pomfrey replies. Usually, Remus does apologize right after he’s done something regretful- it’s much easier to get the bad feeling part over with, but the full moon had been so stressful for him that apologizing on the spot had been out of the question.

“I suppose…” He’s been sitting over the covers on his bed and reading a book, this one called Their Eyes Were Watching God. Remus is still deep into American literature. “I reckon you’re right.” He continues, finally swinging his legs down from the bed. “See you.”

“Take care, Remus.” The walk from the hospital wing back to the common room has always felt dark and lonely to Remus, and he wishes for the hundredth time that he had someone to walk with. Marlene, or Sirius, or someone. Just some company. He arrives at the portrait hole and paces back and forth a few steps, gathering himself, before pushing into the common room. He’s at once both horrified and relieved to only see the marauders sitting in their usual corner. This means that he can have a more open conversation with James, but he doesn’t have the familiar comforts of Lily, Mary, and Marlene to fall back on. Sirius is the first to spot him by the entrance, and his quickly moving mouth stops so the rest of the boys turn to look at Remus as well.

He falls back on old habits and flushes unpleasantly, picking his way across the common room to talk to them. 

“All right, Remus?” Sirius asks him. The dark haired boy seems to have less of a laugh in his voice than usual. This makes Remus sure that James had told both him and Peter about their “row” last night. 

“Hiya.” Remus responds, sitting down heavily next to them. He must have winced, because Sirius adopts an expression of concern.

“It’s been a minute.” Sirius continues, and Remus feels heavy with shame.

“Yeah.” His throat is tight with untold lies, and he avoids James’s eyes. “I was visiting-”

“Your mum.” James interrupts sharply, unlike himself. “How is she?” His dark eyes burn with the pain of being lied to.

“Fine.” Remus breathes miserably. “She’s fine.” Sirius looks worried, James looks angry, and Peter just looks pitying. “I’m sorry James, for being short with you.”

“That’s alright.” It’s clearly not, judging by James’s closed off expression, but Remus can’t be bothered with him. 

“Where are the girls?” Remus asks to change the topic, and Sirius plays along easily, much to Remus’s relief. 

“Having a girly emergency, apparently. It’s probably better off we don’t know.” Sirius says knowingly. None of the boys are unfortunate enough to know that Mary had gotten her first period that evening and had rushed to her friends in a panic, who had gone to Alice Fortescue, a fifth year who was dating the one and only Frank Longbottom, for advice on what to do. It had been better off that they didn’t know. 

The girls come down ten minutes before midnight and join the group to head to the Astronomy tower. Marlene falls to the back of the group with Remus and links her hand with his. She gives him a warm look and doesn’t ask questions about his three day absence- doesn’t press. She’s just there for him.

**s**

Sirius has been feeling the rift amongst the marauders in a bad way lately. Remus is busy with schoolwork, or forces himself to be, and has even started getting tutored once a week by some Slytherin about Potions. James is busy preparing himself for Quidditch season. Sirius has another opportunity to try out this year, but is insecure of his own abilities and still isn’t sure if he’ll go out for it. Peter is working on his own pet project of mapping out Hogwarts and Sirius helps him sometimes, giving him tips on the ratio of when the moving staircases move in certain directions, but otherwise he’s listless and lost.

The girls, well. They’re very girly. They paint nails and do makeup and giggle together which gets old rather fast for Sirius, who would rather not be used as a mannequin for their blush and mascara. They have a new friend too, a dark haired girl named Dorcas who laughs loudly and apparently has her own passion for Quidditch. Sirius joins them sometimes when they lounge outside in the courtyard and make the best of the fleeting warm weather, but it’s not the same as running around the castle with the marauders.

It’s all Remus’s fault.

Now, Sirius does have some stores of empathy, but they’ve all been depleted after a few weeks of having to put up with Remus’s moodiness. He had been golden and sunny at the end of the summer- his face freckled and always smiling, his demeanor patient and unwaveringly kind. This attitude had lasted until mid-September and quickly fizzled out after his fight with James. These days, he’s just sulky and quiet- never in a mood to go pull any pranks.

This leaves Sirius to his own devices, which means taking walks. Lots of walks. He takes James’s invisibility cloak, not asking for permission but not necessarily needing it, and paces the corridors at night- sometimes lost in his own thoughts and sometimes sketching out bits of the school to give to Peter for the map. It’s on one of these late night expeditions in mid October that Sirius stumbles upon a secret passageway.

This hadn’t been on purpose. Sirius had been in the south wing of the school, opening unfamiliar doors at random to see what was behind them, when he had opened one on two people snogging. Ordinarily, this would have been fine. The people inside would have assumed it was a ghost, or maybe Peeves the poltergeist, and continued their snogging, but Sirius had stopped dead because it was two blokes sucking face. One from Slytherin, and one from Hufflepuff. Sirius had said something coherent along the lines of “Merlin’s beard!” before remembering he was invisible and fleeing down the hallway while the boys panicked and tried to find the source of the interruption. 

They had been shouting something stupid like “who’s there?” and the Slytherin had brandished his wand at what looked like thin air while Sirius wheeled around the hallway. He’d been getting used to sprinting through the halls of Hogwarts for one reason or another. While on the run, trying his best to keep the cloak over him and remain invisible, he had slipped on a patch of floor that Peeves himself had greased, and fallen headlong into a statue of a one eyed witch. The marvelous crashing sound reverberated through the empty halls and Sirius nearly flung himself to the ground to pick up the statue before Mrs. Norris arrived just in time to promptly end his life.

While on the ground, Sirius had noticed a very deep hollow in the wall behind the witch, one that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He hadn’t seen Mrs. Norris or the queer lovers anywhere, so naturally, he had knelt and touched the hollow, feeling around for something to reveal a trap or a passageway. When no such thing revealed itself, Sirius had straightened up, still suspicious, and retreated to the dormitory.

Now, he’s scrambling up the stairs to the dorm room and bursts in to find an unfortunately familiar scene. Remus is perched in the windowsill reading a book, stony faced and serious. Peter is lying on his bed, organizing his photos in the ever growing album. James has a record spinning, probably to drown out the deeply uncomfortable silence that would be ringing throughout the room without it. 

“Lads!” Sirius exclaims, breathless. “I found something fantastic.” They all look up at him, even cold eyed Remus. 

“What is it?” James asks tiredly. Quidditch trials are later in the week and he’s been practicing harder than ever to make sure his chaser spot is secure.

“I think… well, I don’t know. I was cataloging the third corridor of the southern wing for your map, Pete, and I found this weird part of the wall behind this statue. It might be a hidden passage, or something.”

“Are you serious?” Remus speaks from the windowsill. His voice is hoarse and scratchy.

“Remus, I promise you, there’s not a moment in any day when I’m not serious.” Sirius says in a voice of genuine humor, and James bursts out laughing from behind him. The pun even loosens up Remus, who gives his friend a helpless smile. Sirius doesn’t let them linger any longer and in a few moments time, the four boys are squashed together underneath the cloak and returning to the corridor where the statue of the witch is. They all take turns examining the hollow behind it, each coming up with nothing, before Peter finally asks-

“What makes you think it’s a passage, Sirus? How can we know?”

“I don’t think there’s a way.” James must be awfully tired, because he’s usually bang on optimistic, and would have pulled some spell out of his arse to try on the wall. 

“I just get a  _ feeling,  _ you know? It’s so out of the ordinary.” Sirius looks sadly at the wall, coming to understand that he’s probably wrong.

“There’s a way.” Remus says easily. The other three look at him and Remus pulls his wand from his robes, pointing it at the statue. “Dissendium.” He says clearly, but not loud enough to attract Filch or Mrs. Norris on their nightly prawlings of the halls. The hump on the witch’s back slides open to reveal a large, very dark hole. The four of them stare at it, struck by how deceptively simple it all was.

“What’s that spell then?” Sirius asks weakly.

“Reveals hidden passages.” Remus’s voice is bashful. “Let’s find out where it goes, then, eh?” Before anyone can stop him, the boy ducks out from under the cloak and descends into the hole, disappearing into the darkness. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the marauders to fearlessly throw themselves into the darkness after him.

The excitement lasts about ten minutes at most. They’ve found themselves in a dark tunnel that seems to lead  _ somewhere,  _ a secret passageway that they’ve discovered all by themselves, and for ten minutes they trek under wandlight into the darkness. Ten minutes turns into twenty, then thirty, and after forty five minutes, none of them are too sure about continuing.

“It’s very late.” Peter is the first to complain and voices the thoughts that had been running through everyone else's heads.

“It is.” Sirius notes. “But we’ve got to see where this ends.”

“There’s no point in turning back now.” James adds in his friend’s defense. They keep walking in silence before Peter speaks up again.

“What if this goes, like, to the edge of the world? What if we end up in China?” Sirius is about to say something he’ll regret, but Remus speaks before him.

“We won’t end up in China, Pete.” His voice is placid and calming, enough that Sirius immediately trusts him on this. “Listen, our voices aren’t echoing as much, we must be nearing the end.” He’s right. Remus is most always right. It’s only about five more minutes before they reach the end of the tunnel and Remus looks up the bridge of his long nose at the ceiling. There’s a trapdoor hanging over them. “We’re bound to be in Hogsmeade.”

“You think?” James asks. He’s the tallest of the group, nearing his growth spurt sooner than anyone else, and stretches on his tiptoes to knock uselessly at the bottom of the trap door. He descends from his tip toes and looks at the rest of the boys with an open, eager expression. The tunnel is musty and dark, and if they are indeed in Hogsmeade, there’s little stopping them from entering the village. “Say we find out?” James stretches up again and tugs the trapdoor down. He vaults himself through the square shaped hole in the ceiling, and the rest of them wait in tense silence, wondering what they’ve discovered. Then, at last, James’s voice comes back to them.

“Lads, I think we’ve found a passage directly into Honeydukes.”

**j**

The discovery of the passageway to Honeydukes has proved to be the event that brought the marauders back together. James had known his own pettiness had been a part of it, but he considers it incredibly unfaithful to lie to one’s own friends, and still feels generally upset with Remus for continuing to fabricate his mum’s illness. All three of them know that Remus is lying about the whole situation, since the boy doesn’t do anything to cement his own words in the truth. 

James Potter is a boy who pays attention to the small details and little things, and has started researching werewolves. Not for History of Magic or Defense Against the Dark Arts, but because he really and truly believes that Remus Lupin is a werewolf. He hasn’t told Sirius or Peter because he knows that it’s a large and wild accusation, but one that is rooted in immense stores of evidence. 

James has been paying attention since June’s full moon, when Remus was “visiting his mum”, and looked at the moon charts to know that his row with Remus had taken place on the night of the full moon. Remus disappears, probably somewhere safe to transform, and returns the next day, or a few days later, looking ill and tired and worn. And then there are the apparently unexplainable scars and bruises all over him- worse than anywhere on his chest and shoulders- scars that had brought hot shame to Remus’s eyes and a denial of his parents doing it: “ _ I can’t lie to you, but I can’t tell you why I have them.”  _

Of course he wouldn’t tell James in the Quidditch changing rooms that he was a werewolf, who would? The wizarding world has nasty prejudices against “half breeds”, ones that James himself has never shared, but that’s because he’s never actually met a werewolf. Or a supposed werewolf.

With the facts in order and the evidence pointing the way it does, James has come to the conclusion that his werewolf argument will hold up rather well. He should consider practicing magical law. The full moon for October is the coming Sunday, and if Remus makes another disappearing act, James thinks that he’ll confront him about it after he comes back. But that’s for the future. Today, the only thing on James’s mind is Quidditch trials.

He walks into the Great Hall early for breakfast, and is pleased to see Yetta sitting with Dottie, Rosa, and Hyatt. James seats himself next to them without invitation, but hardly needing it.

“Morning, Potter!” Dottie says brightly. Her eyes are warm with excitement. 

“Hello hello hello!” James replies cheerily. “How are we all today?”

“You know.” Rosa says slyly, her brown eyes narrowing. “Trying not to take offense that Horn is still making us try out.” Yetta scoffs at this.

“It’s only fair that everyone has to try out every year. Besides, we’ll be needing a new seeker and keeper.”

“A new keeper?” James has noticed Shelby’s absence, but just assumed he was having a lie in. “Shelby’s out?”

“Told me he wasn’t going to play this year.” Yetta shrugs and sips at her mug of coffee casually. “He’s a nice bloke, but not too fit on a broom. Potter, is your mate trying out?” James has been preoccupied with the enchanted ceiling, which shows grey clouds and falling rain.

“Hm? Black? Maybe, he keeps going back and forth on it. I suppose we’ll see. Weather doesn’t look too nice, does it?” 

“Better for seeing how well you all fly in the rain.” Yetta says briskly. She’s reading the Prophet and drinking her coffee like a real adult, and James is once again surprised to think of her as a seventh year, and the team captain, instead of Austin. Still, Yetta might even be a better flier than him, and definitely knows how to rally a team. James wonders if Rosa or Dottie will be captain next year. 

“Now remember,” Yetta tells the four of them as they walk down to the pitch after breakfast. It is indeed raining, but not hard enough to make flying increasingly more difficult. “I love you lot, but no hard feelings if you don’t make the team, alright? If there’s someone better, I won’t choose one of you just because we’ve flown together before. It’s only fair.”

"Don’t fret, Horn, that’s a decision you won’t have to make.” Hyatt says brashly, and the rest of them agree with him immediately. Yetta gives him a cool look, but her face softens.

“No.” She sighs in agreement. “I don’t think I will.” When they arrive at the pitch, James is heartened and surprised to see Sirius Black chatting animatedly with a fourth year girl. He’s wearing his Quidditch robes, so he must be trying out.

“Alright, Sirius? I didn’t think you’d be here!” Sirius has his long haired tied back and blinks drizzle out of his eyes as he grins at James.

“Haven’t got much to lose, have I?”

“Guess not. What position are you going out for?”

“I was thinking beater, but those two aren’t going anywhere.” Sirius jerks his chin at Rosa and Dottie, who are warming up on their brooms with a fifth year boy. “So… keeper? I’ll take anything, really.” 

“What about you?” James asks the fourth year standing next to Sirius. She has golden brown hair, sort of like Remus’s, tied in two low pigtails and a sunny face.

“Seeker. I’m Isabelle Adams.” She extends a brave hand that James shakes, returning her smile. They chat for a few minutes but Yetta starts trials before the weather can get any worse. The older girl looks like a force of nature on her broom in the rain- her short, dark hair held back by its familiar bandana and her scarlet robes blowing behind her in the wet rain.

James flies at his best, as does Hyatt, and after the first few rounds of trials, all prospective chasers have been cut. It doesn’t take long for Yetta to send off those just looking for beater positions, and the remaining members stand in the muddy grass while Yetta surveys them with her calm grey gaze.

Sirius is still there, but James can tell by the slump of his shoulders that he’s worn out. Yetta had been trying him as keeper, and he’s rather clumsy on his broom in the unfamiliar heavy gear. Isabelle is still in the runnings, and she’s very quick on her broom. The other potential seekers are a nervous looking third year girl who’s an excellent flier but needs to brush up on her bludger-dodging skills, and a third year boy named Leon who’s a friend of Hyatt’s. Yetta cuts the anxious third year and then tells Sirius in a soft voice that he should try again next year. 

Seeing Sirius Black not get his way is painful for everyone involved, even Yetta. His shoulders sink momentarily but he keeps his chin up.

“Cheers, Horn.” He says bravely, winks at James, and trudges away into the rain. Head still held high. There’s only three prospective players left, and Yetta doesn’t waste time in sending Isabelle and Leon racing around the pitch after the snitch. Both of them are fast fliers and James himself couldn’t make the decision, but Yetta makes it by cutting Leon.

It’s the same excitement as first year, when James looks around at their team. Five of the players are the same, but the two new additions are exciting enough. Warm faced Isabelle Adams is their new seeker, and a brown haired boy named Amon Magnolis is appointed keeper. He’s a fifth year and is apparently somewhat shy towards everyone except Dottie, who he seems to be all eyes for.

That’s fine for James. Trials are over, he’s still the third chaser on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team, and now he has more time to worry about other things. Like Remus Lupin, and the upcoming full moon. That’s plenty to worry about. 


	23. [YR 2] Loud Gets Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gahh this chapter makes me weep (in the best way)
> 
> lyrics from "TANTRUM" by waterparks

_so excuse my tantrum, can't you see i've got my hands full?_

**r**

Sirius Black turns thirteen and kisses Mary MacDonald on the lips in the Gryffindor common room.

Remus doesn’t know his friend’s reasons behind the action, but it really gets his birthday party swinging, and Remus ends up not caring so much because it’s a rather good party and now that things are back to normal, it’s good to let loose. Remus had been sitting right next to Mary (in between her and Marlene) when Sirius had swooped in for the kiss and he remembers it in vivid detail: Sirius’s pale face, cheeks pinker than usual, the glow of Mary’s coffee colored skin, the way they smiled against each other’s lips. Then Remus had looked away. He briefly wondered if him and Marlene looked nice like that when they kissed each other, and then decided it pointless to worry about.

Marlene seemed to have noticed the pickup in Remus’s mood as well, and had mentioned it at the party, noting how much happier he was acting. 

“I’m glad you all have made up, it’s no fun when the four of you are fighting. I like you better in a good mood.” Marlene’s words had stayed with Remus throughout the night and he had relaxed into the evening, agreeing mentally that it felt much better to be friendly with the rest of the marauders than tense and cold. But James Potter could never keep his worries at bay for too long, and on the night of November 4th, Remus is cornered.

His night had been fine. Good, even. Dinner had been a loud and enjoyable affair, and afterwards, Remus had been dragged to the library by Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas to help them study for History of Magic. They had worked and joked around on and off, eventually getting kicked out of the library for being too loud and moving back to the Hufflepuff common room, where Dorcas had invited them. She’s very bold and loud, more so than Lily or Marlene, but Remus enjoys her ability to make easy conversation and the two of them get on quite well. The night had flown by and eventually a Hufflepuff prefect had told the three Gryffindors that it was late enough to return to their own common room. 

Then they had bid each other goodnight, and in generally high spirits, Remus had returned to the dormitory. The rest of the marauders are already in the dorms and a familiar Hendrix guitar solo is soaring out of the record player.

“Sut mae?” Remus asks them as he enters, noting the look of confused repulsion on James’s face.

“Has it ever occured to you that the Welsh language is a perfect example of what it’s like to have a stroke?” He asks, causing all of them to burst out laughing. “I mean you look at it and the letters make sense but there’s so many bloody w’s that it looks like your head has just given up! How do you do it?”

“That’s offensive, first off. Welsh is an ancient language full of Celtic and Britonic history, it’s rather fascinating if you read about it. I’m sure my dad has a book about the history, I’ll give it to you for Christmas.”

“No thanks.” James wrinkles his nose.

“It’s quite nice to listen to, honestly. You’re not fluent, are you?” Peter asks, and Remus shakes his head.

“I just know a couple of phrases. My mum’s fluent though, you should hear the house when my aunts are in town. James, you would have a real stroke.”

“I’m sure.” James and Peter are sitting on the floor in between their respective beds, marking up the map.

“Still working on that?” Remus asks, looking at it as he deposits his history work on the floor. 

“We’ll be working on it ‘til our seventh year.” Peter groans.

“Busy with the staircases. It’s tough stuff.” James concedes.

“Remus, are you a werewolf?” Sirius asks, so completely out of the blue and randomly that Remus is afraid he’s having auditory hallucinations. He glances up at Sirius who is casually sitting at the end of his bed, looking at him with curious blue eyes.

“Pardon?” Remus tries to keep his voice light, but he knows Peter and James are all staring at him now. 

“Are you a werewolf?” James and Peter have stopped chattering and the only sound in the room is Jimi’s singing and Remus’s heartbeat loud in his ears. This is something that Remus hasn’t expected. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and Sirius’s steely eyes are boring into him. 

“Er.” Remus says. The picture of eloquence. He can feel his face heating up but is frozen to the spot next to his bed, and thinks that even if he’d like to move his feet, he wouldn’t be able to. He’s a statue, frozen in Sirius’s cool gaze with a burning face. “Who’s asking?” Sirius raises his eyebrows dramatically and James lets out the breath of a laugh, holding a hand over his face. It’s stupid, it’s an awfully stupid thing to say, and Remus finally unfreezes to sit down heavily on his bed. Now that he’s not looking at Sirius, he’s looking at James and all of a sudden, he feels like crying. 

“Remus…” James begins slowly, obviously attempting for some form of comfort, but Sirius is faster than him.

“Remus, we know.” Remus hangs his head so he doesn’t have to look at any of them anymore and think of something to say before he actually starts crying. God, what a disaster that would be. It hurts though, it hurts that they’ve found out and it’ll hurt even more when they stop talking to him and push him away. Remus had enjoyed them _so_ much. He had never had friends like this before. He remembers Pete’s friendliness on the Hogwarts Express last year, the way James had shaken his hand without any judgement clouding his warm brown eyes, how Sirius had crept into his bed late at night and shared the sad secrets of his family, of his own hatred. Remus can’t lose them. Remus doesn’t want to lose them. 

“I… I understand if you don’t- if you don’t want to be friends…”

“Don’t want to be friends?” James asks loudly, getting up from his position on the floor. Remus wipes a hand across his face and turns away as the boy sits down next to him on the bed. Remus isn’t one for physical affection and dreads what James will do next, hoping to god it isn’t a hug. “Of course we want to be your friends. This doesn’t change that.”

“But I’m- I’m a, they consider me, I’m a dark  _ creature. _ ” Remus stammers. “I’m a monster!” All of the shame and self hatred comes rushing to his throat in an awful display of emotions. He's been so humiliated by his lycanthropy, tearing himself to pieces and waking up naked on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, locked away from everyone else to howl at the moon, and then allow Madam Pomfrey to see all his wounds and heal them. Hiding it from everyone has hurt but having his friends know hurts even worse because it's degrading and shameful, god, he's so ashamed of himself. 

“We don’t care.” Sirius says from across the room.

“We  _ care _ ,” Peter interrupts, “but it doesn’t change our friendship. I think it’s cool.” Remus snaps his head up and glares at Peter, who’s the easiest to take his own anger out on. All of a sudden, his self conscious sadness melts into seething anger.

“It’s not cool. It’s not cool at all! I’ve been lying to you three for over a year, and you think it’s cool? I gave all these, these bloody scars to myself!" He gestures to his face, at the mysterious scars they had all been eyeing since the day they met. 

"I tear myself apart every fucking month and you call that cool?” Peter shrinks as Remus raises his voice, feeling more and more angry. “If people find out and I ever hurt someone, or attack someone, they’ll kill me! They’ll put me down, like an animal! It’s not cool to be thought of as an  _ animal! _ ” His voice is becoming shrill and breaking with the painful weight of the tears in his throat. “I hurt, Peter! I hurt so fucking badly and you call it cool? You call it…” 

But his anger is lost in sadness and the levy finally breaks. Remus covers his face as he starts crying and sits back down on the bed in shock, hardly aware that he had even gotten up. Then James is there, his warm arm around Remus’s shoulders, and Remus isn’t angry anymore. He doesn’t know what he is, and he sobs harshly into his hands as James tightens his hand on Remus’s shoulder. This simple gesture of affection all but ruins Remus, who hardly touches or is touched by other people, and is only used to real closeness from Marlene. But Marlene doesn’t hold him when he cries, because he never cries.

The record has stopped playing, and Remus can hear the needle spinning on nothing, no grooves to play it forward. James says something softly like “it’s okay” and Remus falls apart in his arms, never having felt like this before. His anger had turned to helpless sadness and now he feels a relief as warm as a hot summer day. It’s like sinking into a warm bath. It’s the best feeling in the world, and Remus finally relaxes into James' embrace. He exhales loudly and thinks of something to say, maybe an apology to Peter or a thank you to James, but can’t find anything. They sit in silence for a long while.

**s**

After everyone is asleep, Sirius visits Remus.

Sirius is good at many things. He’s good at school, can play decently in Quidditch, is nearly dripping with charisma, but when it’s time to go to sleep, he’ll lie awake in the dark for hours, tossing and turning and turning and trying his best to fall asleep. He tosses and turns tonight for literal hours, and wonders if Remus is doing the same. Sirius doesn’t check the time (if he would, he would read about a quarter to four in the morning on his pocket watch) as he creeps across the bedroom to Remus’s four poster. 

Remus must've heard him, because he pulls the curtains back as an invitation for Sirius to enter. Sirius perches at the foot of his bed, the same way he does with James, and casts muffliato to let their conversation go unheard by the others in the off chance that they wake up. 

“Hey.” Sirius says. Remus hadn’t even been trying to sleep- he has his wand lit and a book open on his lap. His amber eyes are still rimmed red from the crying earlier, and there are familiar dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey.” Remus echoes. He closes the book slowly and sits up a little higher. Sirius is wearing a soft green jumper since Remus’s open window leaves the dorm chilly at night, but the other boy is only wearing a t-shirt, and still looks uncomfortably warm. His arms have lost their tan from the summer, and the familiar white scars on his forearms blend better in his skin.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Sirius sighs out. Remus fingers the book nervously and avoids Sirius’s eyes. “Same for you?”

“Had a nightmare.” Remus looks embarrassed about this, and Sirius wishes he wouldn’t. When Sirius does get a full night of sleep, his dreams are fitful and he’s woken up near tears and gasping for breath more than once- dreaming himself into situations where Regulus is screaming in a pain that he’s never heard before, his mother’s wand just a blur of red light, the word “crucio” just past her tongue-

“Want to talk about it?” Remus regards Sirius impassively and looks back at his book. “We don’t have to. We could talk about something fun.”

“It was about the night I got bitten.” This isn’t fun. Sirius doesn’t reply and isn’t sure if he should. “I was five.” Remus won’t look at him now but Sirius can tell he’s relieved to finally be able to talk about it. “He came in through the window, I looked up and there was this huge thing climbing in and I thought- I thought it was my  _ dad.  _ But then I saw his eyes.” 

Remus bites at his lip and Sirius wonders for a brief moment if he’s going to start crying again. That would make it awkward. “They were glowing.” 

“Glowing eyes.” Sirius repeats softly, painting himself a mental image. It must have been truly terrifying. Waking up in your bed as a five year old and seeing a dark shape in the window, thinking it was the familiar figure of your father, and then seeing glowing eyes and your dad’s eyes didn’t glow. Your dad's eyes were brown, and besides, your father would've never grabbed you like that and your father didn't have claws, wouldn't rake them across your face, your dad would've made you feel better, not made you cry.

“He cut me up and bit me, then.” Remus tugs at the shoulder of his t-shirt and Sirius sees the edge of a particularly thick white scar curved on the boy’s thin shoulder. He lets the t-shirt drop back into place and the scar disappears underneath the fabric. “It was ages ago, but I still have nightmares. It’s bullshit.” Remus swears the most out of the four of them, and Sirius thinks that he may have to pick up on it to match him. 

“It’s not bullshit. It’s normal to have bad dreams. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about it all. ” 

“Yeah, well. Nothing we can do now.” Remus sighs heavily as though shaking himself out of his daze. “I’m gonna have some chocolate, you want some?”

“Always.” Remus pushes back his covers and leans over the edge of his bed to dig around underneath. He comes back up with a bar of dark chocolate. Remus splits off two squares and hands one to Sirius before popping the other one into his own mouth. Sirius prefers sweeter milk chocolate but doesn’t complain- it’s a free handout at least. 

“Are you gonna tell Marlene?” Sirius asks out of the blue. Remus shakes his head right away.

“No, no way. You three are the only ones who get to know. And if any of you tell anyone…”

“Don’t worry about that. Trust me, okay? None of us will tell. Especially not after you told Pete off like that.” Sirius laughs. “That got him plenty scared.” Remus doesn’t laugh.

“I know I got all dramatic, but that was  _ true,  _ Sirius. If I ever hurt someone… the ministry won’t care that I’m part human. The wolf is what matters to them.”

“You’re only a wolf once a month, though. You’re human right now, and you’ll be human every single day except for one.”

“They don’t see it like that.” 

“Shame.”

“It is.” Remus’s eyes burn into Sirius.

“You know I won’t tell. James would never, he’d rather kill himself. And Peter thinks you’ll kill him if he even mentions werewolves in any context, so your secret’s safe with us.”

“Cheers.” Remus says humorlessly. He breaks off another square of chocolate for himself. “Besides, Marlene thinks my scars are sexy and we don’t want her thinking I got a bit mad one night and scratched myself up like a lunatic.”

“Oh, she thinks they’re  _ sexy _ .”

“I’ve got one thing going for me, don’t I?”

“You’ve got a lot going for you.” Sirius wishes he could take back the words, but Remus doesn’t even seem to pay attention to them.

“So what’s been going on with you and MacDonald, anyways?” The boys talk into the night, leaving werewolf talk behind and instead descending into easy gossip that feels more familiar to them. By the time they’ve been talking for an hour, Sirius finally feels warm and comfortable enough to fall asleep. He curls up like a dog at the foot of Remus’s bed and rests his head on his arms, eyes closed. Remus is half under his covers, head on his pillow, and they don’t look at each other as they talk. Their responses come back slower and slower until Remus finally says-

“D’you want to sleep up here?” Sirius raises his head and finally looks at Remus. The boy is sleepy eyed and looks very soft there lying in his crimson bedsheets.

“Mmm, that’d be nice.” Sirius crawls up the covers and Remus laughs as he tucks himself comfortably against the other boy’s warm body. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“No,  _ mum,  _ I’m just a werewolf.” They’re essentially spooning and Sirius laughs into the empty air on his side of the bed. 

“I can’t believe you told us your mum was terminally ill.”

“Me either.”

“So she’s fine?”

“She’s completely healthy.”

“Christ.” Remus giggles against Sirius’s back and Sirius grins widely, glad that the other boy can’t see his wide smile. That seems to be the end of their conversation, until once again, Remus speaks up. This time he’s much quieter.

“Sirius?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t treat me differently, okay?” Remus seems like he’s been waiting to say this. “Because of this wolfy stuff.”

“‘Course not, Moony.” Sirius mumbles tiredly. He’s quickly drifting to sleep. “I’d never.”

“Cool.”

“Super cool.” Finally, they fall asleep.

**j**

In early December, James and Sirius take a well deserved trip to Honeydukes’. 

Technically, you have to be a third year to be allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but the secret passage that they had found served as an easy way to bypass that rule, and they scramble down it one Friday afternoon to get sweets for their friends. 

James whips off the invisibility cloak as soon as they reach the tunnel, and it’s not long before Sirius challenges him to a race. The two of them sprint through the darkness of the tunnel, their footsteps echoing in the darkness. The passage is wide enough for the pair to run side by side and their sprint turns into a jog after a while. James buzzes with energy and is still running through the tunnel when Sirius tackles him from behind, taking him down to the floor of the tunnel.

“Oi!” James shouts indignantly, punching at Sirius, who laughs loudly in the darkness. James’s wandlight has gone out and now they wrestle with each other on the cold floor, punching and kicking. James feels Sirius’s hands push out at him and he rolls into the side of the tunnel, crying out in mock pain. 

“Argh!” Sirius’s battle cry echoes around them as he throws himself on top of James, knocking the air out of him. Sirius pulls at his hair and James blindly kicks out, feeling his foot connect with Sirius’s leg- pushing the other boy backwards. Once separated, their tussle ends, and they lie on their backs on the floor of the tunnel, seeing nothing and only listening to the sound of each other’s heavy breathing. 

“ _ Lumos maxima _ ,” Sirius whispers after a while. The tunnel is cast back into a shining blue light and James wonders about the light on the other side- what time it is and if the sun’s come out or if it’s snowing. He sits up and licks at his lip, tasting iron from where Sirius had split it. Sirius has a low bruise under one eye but his sunny grin hasn’t gone anywhere, and he helps James back up to his feet. “That was fun.” 

Underneath the trap door to Honeydukes’, the two of them have a conversation about whether or not they should put the cloak back on after climbing out of the storage room in the back of the shop. Sirius thinks that no one will notice two Hogwarts students wandering around Hogsmeade, but James brings up the possibility of a teacher or nosy older student spotting them, and Sirius sullenly but responsibly agrees that they can wait until third year to walk the village uncovered.

The boy’s have spent their fair amount of time in Honeydukes, stealing sweets from the back storeroom, but Sirius begs James to leave the shop and look around Hogsmeade, just to see what it’s like, and James gives in. Honeydukes is crowded with older students wrapped in winter cloaks and wearing hats, gloves, and scarves. Neither Sirius nor James had expected to spend any time out in the snow, and their thin invisibility cloak is buffeted by a gust of snowy wind as they exit the shop. 

Hogsmeade looks like a Christmas dream. The sky is a light grey and snow is falling lightly, carpeting the ground in white sheets. Thatched cottages and houses line the streets, with their triangular roofs white with snow, and windows dripping icicles. Deep green wreaths and sweeping boughs of holly decorate house and shop windows alike, and James sees a towering Christmas tree in the middle of town surrounded by an assortment of floating candles. Their lights flicker and warp the white wax underneath, bobbing up and down like cheerful fireflies in the wintry village. 

Sirius looks younger as they walk the length of the village, his eyes a bright blue as they take in everything with curious fervor. They walk out to the edge of the village, James noticing quietly that they’ve left footprints in the snow but not thinking it worrisome enough to tell Sirius. When the high street turns into the road that leads up to Hogwarts, the two of them stop walking. They look at the Shrieking Shack in silence.

“I’ve never really heard it  _ shriek,  _ to be honest.” Sirius says, jerking his chin at the ramshackle house up and out of the way. 

“You never get close enough, prick.”

“Hm, that would be fun on Halloween, d’you think? Next year?”

“We can come down here any night!” James protests, thinking of how fun it would be to spend the night in the dreadfully haunted house. “Or are you too scared? Need to wait all the way ‘till then?”

“No way.” Sirius shoves him again and James slips clumsily, almost falling out from under the cloak. They’re not the types to dwell, and head back downtown to once again spend time gazing at the decorations everywhere.

“Everything’s so  _ festive _ .” Sirius comments as the pause to stare at the glittering Christmas tree.

“We call this Christmas, Sirius, dunno if you’ve heard of it.” Sirius shoves him playfully, but doesn’t lose his childish smile. “I reckon you don’t go out to look at the lights in London?” He scoffs in reply.

“Not us, never.” James enjoys watching Sirius gawk and peer in the windows of all the shops, and the two of them nearly drool with window-shopping excitement outside Spintwitches Sporting Goods. They have a Nimbus 1000 in the window, the newest racing broom, and James and Sirius take care not to fog the window with their breath as they gaze at it.

“God, she’s beautiful.” James whispers.

“Can reach up to a hundred miles an hour.” Sirius responds.

“And can spin a 360 on the spot.” Both of them have deep yearning in their voices, but Sirius is the first to finally break away from the window. 

“We’d better be getting back.”

“Yeah.” The bustling warm storefront of Honeydukes is welcome after the cold, but James already misses the picturesque village they’ve left behind. He can’t wait until third year. The two boys raid the storeroom and use Sirius’s cloak as a sling to carry their stolen chocolates and candy in. They get a few packets of chewing gum for James, taffies for Mary, licorice wands for Marlene, cauldron cakes and fudge for Peter, loads of toffee for Sirius, lollies for Lily, and all sorts of chocolate for Remus. James had lowered himself back through the trap door before Sirius remembered to get something for Regulus, and he had hunted around to pick up some jelly slugs before dropping back into the tunnel. 

Their sweets-nicking adventure complete, the two take a rather longer journey back through the tunnel, held up by all the candies they’re carrying. James feels a good, warm sort of feeling as they trek back through the tunnel.  He doesn’t mind the darkness with Sirius by his side, a best mate who’ll throw him back on the floor and then laugh his head off while he helps him up. James loves him, loves Peter and Remus and the whole wide world. 

James is truly a lover, not a hater, and he’ll burn with that innocent and selfless love up until the day he dies. 


	24. [YR 2] Real Dark Around Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some abusive parenting from the one and only walburga black
> 
> lyrics from "the weekend" by modern baseball

_ you’ve got a smile that could light this town and we might need it, ‘cause it gets dark around here (real dark around here) _

**r**

Remus Lupin enjoys the holidays. So do Peter Pettigrew and Lily Evans. The three of them wear disastrous Christmas jumpers and even join in singing carols one night when some of the sixth years in the common room go on a drunken concert of Christmas tunes. Lily had been the first to join in. Even Sirius seems in a cheerier spirit, as his parents had given him permission to visit the Potters over winter holidays. The full moon in December will be spent at home for Remus, and he’s grateful that he won’t have to explain where he goes during it to his friends.

Even the professors get into the holiday spirit. In Transfiguration, McGonagall gives them random objects and gets her classes to turn them into holiday decorations. Remus uses the engorgement charm to turn a rusty tree-shaped cookie cutter into the size of a real Christmas tree, and then uses a color charm to turn it a shade of cheerful green. McGonagall gives him full marks. In Herbology, they do a few lessons about cocoa plants, and on their last day of class before holidays, Professor Sprout lets them all harvest the beans and make themselves warm cups of cocoa. It’s probably the best class Remus has ever enjoyed, and he feels like it’s a perfect day. 

The glass of the first greenhouse is fogged with the warmth of the students inside, and Remus sits up on a countertop that rings the windows next to Sirius and James, kicking his legs at the cupboards underneath his feet and cupping a warm mug of cocoa in his hands. They have class with the Ravenclaws and James’s friend Katie sits on a workbench across from them, talking to him and Marlene about Quidditch. Peter has his polaroid with him, he’s been snapping photos of the snowed out grounds, and takes one of Remus and Sirius sitting up by the window laughing together, with James half in the shot and distracted by his own conversation. They’re picturesque. 

Remus doesn’t want to leave the warm chatter of the greenhouse for History, their last class of the day, but dinner is as joyful as ever, and the group of them exchange presents in the common room after dinner. The entire school is decorated for Christmas but Remus loves the common room most of all because it reminds him of home. In cold weather, there’s always a fire crackling in the fireplace, and the couches, chairs, and tables are all occupied by happy, loud students with lots of things to talk about that for once don’t involve schoolwork.

The windowsill in the back corner is Remus’s favorite place to sit, and Marlene joins him up there tonight, sitting across from him so that their feet tangle together when they sit down. Half of Marlene’s face is lit by the cool grey light outside and the other half is a warm orange from the red of the common room and the golden firelight that flickers in the air. She’s half and half, fire and ice, and Remus is struck by her beauty. 

She had gifted him a book of poetry (in private, so James and Sirius wouldn’t laugh) and he had given her a book of prose and both of them have been secretly giddy for the presents because they’ll remember each other every time they open the books. It’s sappy and stupid but Remus feels easily and properly happy with his friends around him that night. 

“Oh Moooony, don’t look now!” James Potter snaps Remus out of his daze, along with using the nickname that Sirius had coined weeks ago. Remus glances over at him but isn’t rewarded with any information. Instead, Marlene gently takes his hand and points upwards where a green and white sprig of mistletoe has descended from between the cracks in the ceiling. 

“Aww, how romantic!” Lily claps her hands together and beams at them. Remus feels that hot, nervous reaction of being put on the spot, but Marlene’s smile is so warm and familiar that he forgets his nerves under her blue eyed gaze and leans forward to bridge the gap between them. Hand on her cheek, lips on her lips, cheers of his friends from behind them. Remus bites his lip as he sits back and feels his face heat up with a familiar blush. Marlene has her teeth between her tongue and her usually pale face is glowing with a pink blush. 

It’s a wonderful moment. In bed that night, Remus lies in the darkened comfort of his four poster and remembers the ying yang contrast of lights on Marlene’s sharp face and covers his own face with his hands, grinning and blushing like a stupid twelve year old experiencing his first love. And it feels brilliant.

The holidays this year are much cheerier than last. Remus gets off the Hogwarts Express to see his parents looking happy to see him, not like last year when they had been pale faced and hateful. Even with money tighter than usual, Hope manages to pull together a nice Christmas dinner. Remus helps her cook and is put in charge of the puddings (Yorkshire and Christmas) while she prepares the turkey and stuffing. The Lupin’s house is small, with a modest living room and kitchen and two bedrooms upstairs with one bathroom in the whole house, but they’ve lived in this one for long enough for decorations and clutter to accumulate, and Remus is actually grateful to be home. Home where his parents love each other and no one lies in bed in the dark all day long. 

It’s probably Luke, Remus reasons, that they’ve all been brought back together. He’s a reason to venture out into the dreary wet cold and get a little bit of exercise for the day, and during a cloudy day where (miraculously) no rain falls, Remus takes him out to a field and they play chase and fetch for hours. After dinner on Christmas day, Lyall puts on an old timey American record and dances with Hope in the living room. They push the coffee table out of the way and stuff the couch against the wall, in between shelves of books and records, and turn the music up to swing dance together.

Remus thinks it’s grand. His parents move together and then apart, and then back together- their feet moving fast on the carpeted floor, clasping their arms together and then swinging apart. Both of them are red faced with exhilaration and Remus’s favorite move is when Lyall swings Hope back towards him across the room and spins her under his arm. She looks much younger there, fair hair flying out from her loose low ponytail and face bright with a genuine smile, one that’s become rarer and rarer in the past years. It lights the whole house tonight.

After their song ends, Hope pulls Remus to his feet and insists on teaching him a few steps. He laughs about it but goes along, letting his mum awkwardly guide his hands and feet into quick steps that come with swing dancing. Remus isn’t too bad at it, it turns out, but he’s growing and gawky and sort of clumsy so he trips up his mum and himself, getting Luke excited and jumping around their feet while they dance off tempo to the music. Lyall takes a photo of the three of them: Hope with love in her eyes and her hands linked with Remus as he laughs, tripping over the dog barking joyfully up at them.

It’s the best Christmas he’s had in a while.

Marlene and Sirius and Peter and James and Lily all write him letters and he likes to walk out to the fields to craft his responses to them. He thinks better in fresh air and the Welsh countryside is wet and quiet in the wintertime. The sky will stretch grey and heavy overhead, rolling on forever over the beige fields, to somewhere far away. One day, Remus wanders into the downtown of the village to sit at a somewhat dry bench by the river to write Marlene. She has wonderfully exciting stories to tell about her big family and the crazy things her siblings have brought back from their travels. Hope’s sisters are visiting after New Years’ so Remus will get to entertain his aunts, but it won’t be nearly as exciting. For the hundredth time, he wishes that he has some siblings.

Remus starts his rambling letter to Marlene and is halfway through his second piece of parchment when he hears his name being called.

“Alright, Remus?” It’s Sion. He’s wearing his own ugly homemade looking Christmas jumper, a coat, and a dark blue knit cap.

“Iawn.” Remus throws out his usual Welsh reply and sees Sion’s face split in a grin. 

“Back for the hols?” Sion sits next to him comfortably on the bench.

“Yeah! Did you have a good Christmas?” Sion shrugs, looks up and down Remus’s face with curious brown eyes.

“Had better ones. And you?”

“Yeah, it was good. How’s your school been?” Sion screws up his face and shrugs, glancing down at Remus’s letter sitting in his lap.

“Don’t go most days, can’t really be bothered. Who’re you writing?” 

“My girlfriend.” Remus doesn’t hesitate and jumble out the confusing story of what Marlene might or might not be, because he knows Sion can’t be bothered to listen. He just tells the truth. Sion raises his heavy eyebrows.

“Girlfriend, wow! Remus is moving up in the world? What’s her name? She good looking?” Remus tells Sion about Marlene and her long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Sion tells him about a girl at school that he’s interested in and Remus listens, feeling something so familiar and easy about being back with his muggle friend. There’s no werewolf talk or magic talk, they just chat about normal things. It’s like a breath of fresh air.

**s**

Sirius Black is not welcomed back at home. His parents are incredibly pleased at Regulus being sorted into Slytherin and most of their attention goes to him, which Sirius is privately thankful for. He keeps quiet at the dinner table, doesn’t take any much sought after trips into muggle London, and essentially disappears within the Black family- much to the pleasure of his parents. Better to be not seen and not heard either way, Sirius feels.

His relationship with Regulus has grown unfortunately strained since the younger brother started at Hogwarts. In their dark, freezing bedroom, Regulus stops trying to make conversations with Sirius, and when Sirius tries to talk to him, the replies he gets back are short and curt. They have an argument one night after dinner when Sirius is complaining about everything in the house being some combination of silver and green when Regulus cuts him off.

“Do you realize that things would have been fine if you had just been sorted into Slytherin? Because you asked for Gryffindor and you got what you wanted, but what did you expect? You expected the family to be  _ happy _ ? Of course they weren’t going to be! You got what you paid for!” Regulus is sitting on his bed with his back against the wall. Sirius is in a mirrored position across the bedroom and stares at his brother with a gaping expression.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t? You run around this school acting like you have no idea who your family is, with mudbloods and muggle lovers and the sorts, pulling pranks and acting like a fool and then coming home expecting them to respect you?” The unspoken  _ them  _ are their parents, but Sirius feels an unfair frustration building in his chest. And a deep sadness. 

“I didn’t  _ ask  _ to be put in Gryffindor, you stupid prat. I asked for Slytherin! I asked the hat for Slytherin- I told it ‘please put me in Slytherin’ and what did it do? It put me in Gryffindor! How is that my fault?” Regulus looks confused and alarmed at being told that he’s wrong. That Black family pride. Sirius takes advantage of his silence to continue. 

“I would love to make them proud, I really would! But, Reg, you have to understand this. They don’t  _ like  _ me. They really don’t like me and nothing I do will make them proud. Not even if I put on my best good-boy face and become Quidditch captain and become head boy and marry one of my cousins and have fucked up little inbred children! That won’t make them proud because they don’t  _ like  _ me!” Sirius is substituting the word “love” for “like”, don’t ask him why, and he can see the regret on his brother’s pale face.

“Sirius-”

“Shut up, Regulus, I’m done with you.” Sirius is angry and sad, and storms out of the bedroom, wishing he had somewhere private to go where he could sit and think in peace. He wishes he could use his two-way mirror to talk to James, but Orion had made it very clear that neither Walburga or Regulus were to know about the heirloom passed down to him.

“Tradition is that the eldest son is given this. Now we both know that you’ve disappointed your mother and I on most every occasion, but I feel that this does… rightfully belong to you. Keep it safe, and don’t tell Reg or your mother, okay? Then both of us will be in trouble.” Orion had insulted Sirius and then made him feel rather special by giving him the mirrors, and Sirius hasn’t used his at home at all yet.

He paces up and down the hallway outside his bedroom until his mother climbs up the stairs and tells him to stop. Then, a stroke of genius hits him. As Walburga turns away to walk back downstairs, Sirius stops her.

“Mum?” She stops walking and turns around, her steel colored eyes narrowed. “Could I clear out the old attic room and move up there?” Walburga raises her eyebrows at the request. “It’s just storage for now and me and Reg have no privacy anymore-”

“That’s fine.” She cuts him off before he thinks of anything else to say. Her voice is just as short as Regulus’s when he gets mad. “Just clean everything up well, I don’t want what’s up there cluttering the rest of the house.”

“Thank you.” She nods curtly and continues back downstairs. Sirius does another mental celebration and wonders what he’s done to be this lucky. The good feeling lasts only a few days, though. 

Sirius spends entire days cleaning out the attic and dragging his belongings up the ladder to the small room, filled with old trinkets and novelties that are clearly known to contain dark magic. Sirius pulls on a pair of Marigolds and works like a muggle, not knowing any domestic spells for cleaning that could help him out. After his third day of cleaning, his shared bedroom with Regulus has been converted into just Regulus’s room, and Sirius now has his own, up and away from prying eyes and ears.

He’s in a cheerful mood at Christmas dinner, and even ends up talking to his mother, which ends up being a bad idea. In the end, Sirius can’t even remember what they were fighting about. It had been about something up in the attic, a family ring, and she had been asking where he had put it. Sirius didn’t remember seeing a ring and told her that. She had insisted that he must have seen it, that it must be somewhere up there, and he had said something regretful about her not giving a damn about where the ring had been before he moved up there.

Backhand to the face with a heavy emerald ring on her finger, a mouth full of blood and a chipped tooth. Sirius runs upstairs with his hands pressed to his jaw and shuts himself in his attic bedroom, bleeding all over himself and frantically trying to hold his shirt over the deep cut in his lip. His tooth aches something awful and he curls into a ball on his mattress, his face throbbing with pain, trying his best to hold back tears.

Christmas Day and he’s spending it getting smacked around by his mother. Full of holly, jolly fun. Sirius hates his own weakness- lying in the darkness and feeling sorry for himself, but there’s nothing else he can do to make himself feel better. Except.

**j**

James is enduring a particularly painful family reunion when he hears Sirius’s tinny voice in his pocket. It’s a very queer feeling and James is glad that his family is all talking loudly and doesn’t notice him slip off to the bathroom to pull the compact out of his pocket.

Sirius’s face appears in the mirror, pale except for the crimson slash of his mouth. 

“Sirius? Are you alright?” James asks quietly, hoping that someone doesn’t try to use the loo and overhears him talking to what would sound like himself from the other side of the door. Sirius isn’t alright, that much is clear just from his face. He looks gaunt and haunted- the look he had on the Hogwarts Express back in September, the look he gets after spending time at home. 

“Just splendid, I’d say. Happy Christmas, huh?” Sirius’s voice is lacking all humor but he tries for it anyways and James hurts for his friend. 

“I was wondering when you’d call.” James says. He's sitting on top of the closed toilet seat and looks around at the gaudily decorated bathroom. 

“Call?” There’s a genuine laugh in Sirius’s voice now. “Like muggles.”

“Just like.” James replies.

“I haven’t been able to use the mirrors at home, Reg and my mum aren’t supposed to know I have it.”

“It’s a family heirloom, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but only my dad knows I’ve got it. He gave it to me. It’s complicated.” Sirius winces when he speaks and James takes a better look at his small face in the mirror. 

“Is your face okay?” It’s a stupid question, but Sirius’s lip is split and he looks a bit ashamed.

“Mum’s present for me this year was a really nice one. Smacked me with her heavy ring on- cut my lip, chipped my tooth. Look.” He draws his lips back and shows James a chip off one of his front bottom teeth. “I look ridiculous.”

“I’m sure we can fix it.” James offers as a source of positivity, but Sirius looks even more downcast at that.

“That’s the thing, too. I dunno if they’ll let me stay at yours anymore, not even for a night. Or the party.” James sighs, not knowing how to respond. “Where are you?” Sirius asks.

“At my great aunt’s. Family reunion, hiding in the loo. Where are  _ you _ ?”

“Up in the attic, I moved out of the room with Regulus. Wanted my own space.” Sirius turns the compact around and gives James a dizzying view of his room. “Not much decoration yet, but it’s nice enough.” It’s very small, maybe even half the size of James’s bedroom, and most of the space is taken up by Sirius’s bare mattress on the floor. James hurts for him again. 

Sirius sits back down on the mattress and the expression of discomfort on his face gives James the wary feeling that his mother might have hit him in more places than just the face. 

“Mate, you know you’re always welcome here, right? If you need to come stay here for the rest of the holidays, that’s fine. My parents will be happy to have you.” Sirius looks upset.

“I’d… I would, you know? I would, but that would be the last straw. Running away. My parents wouldn’t have me back. I’m only thirteen, I can’t…. I can’t not have any family. Not yet.”

“Are you sure?” James doesn’t understand the severity of Walburga and Orion’s (though mostly Walburga’s) parenting, and feels as though his friend may be overexaggerating the consequences of his own actions. What parents would disown their first born son from the family?

“Certain.” Sirius is now the one to heave a heavy sigh. “I try, James, I honestly do. I’ve been trying and been on my best behavior but I make one mistake and everything just goes back to the way it was. It’s one step forward and two steps back. And I wish she would just  _ love  _ me. Like a normal parent. It’s fucking awful.”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius looks even more troubled now, and James is worried and surprised to see tears swimming in his grey eyes. “Sirius, mate, it’s okay. This isn’t forever, you’ll go back to Hogwarts, you spend most of the year there, don’t you? And after Hogwarts you’ll move away, this is just a small part of your life compared to the big picture. It’ll be over sooner than you think.” Sirius wipes at his eyes. 

“I just wish it could end  _ now _ .”

“I know.” James comforts. “Do you think, though… maybe you could talk to your parents about coming here for the rest of the break?” Sirius worries with the scab on his lip and James wants to tell him to stop before he makes it bleed. 

“I mean, I could paint it like they’d be happier to be rid of me. And they would, but they also don’t want me to enjoy myself. A hard choice, huh?” Sirius’s laughter is brittle and cold. “I’ll talk to them about it.” 

“Okay. Let me know what happens.” Sirius looks like he might cry again and makes eye contact with James through the mirror. 

“Thank you.” His thanks sounds much better in person the next night when he arrives in a flash of green smoke in the fireplace, wrapping James in a hug before either of them can get a word out. Sirius has more than just the cut on his lip now but James doesn’t mention the bruise surrounding his eye at first. The two boys stand in the comfort of James’s living room and share an embrace.

Euphemia offers to fix Sirius’s tooth and bonds it in the kitchen while James convinces his dad that he doesn't need to confront Sirius’s parents and that it would be much easier to just leave it alone. Fleamont doesn’t look happy about it but agrees. James isn’t the only one worried about Sirius’s safety.

Sirius is staying in the guest room but him and James sit on James’s bed and talk late into the night. It’s nothing fun, either. Sirius is shaky and nervous, not at all the confident and jaunty boy that he acts up at Hogwarts. 

“She hit me.” He says with James’s blanket wrapped around him, looking hunted and dark. Doesn’t make eye contact. “With her cane. Cracked it over my shoulders. Fucking bitch.”

“She is.”

“All my stuff’s at home.”

“Can Regulus bring it?” Sirius just shrugs and picks at the threads on James’s blanket. 

“At least I’ve got my wand, she’s been threatening to snap it for the past few days.” It’s the night of December 30th, and James wonders how Sirius will handle the annual party that will take place the next night. “And shave my hair.” He adds, running a hand back through his long black hair. “Dunno which would be worse.”

“The hair, probably. You’d look like a thumb.”

“Cheers.” Sirius doesn’t even laugh at that so James ditches the humor, but doesn’t know what to say. So he takes the foolproof method of cheering other friends up- music.

“Say we put on a record? I’ve got the Beatles.”

“You’ve always got the Beatles.” Sirius looks thoughtful but then says- “Well, go on then.” James sticks on Abbey Road and wishes they were back in the dormitory with the four of them there, not him and a broken, sad Sirius. They don’t talk about the events and the residents of 12 Grimmauld Place anymore, they talk about nice things like Christmas and James’s family and John Lennon. Sirius lays back on the bed and pulls out something from his pocket- a crumpled piece of parchment. 

“What’s that?” James asks. He’s lying on his stomach facing Sirius, who’s on his back with his back held up by a stack of pillows. 

“Stupid note from Remus. He always writes one for my birthday.”

“Aw, cute.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it say?”

“Happy birthday, you’re the best, whatever. It’s kind of sweet.”

“That is.” Remus hadn’t written James a special note for his birthday, but he doesn’t take it personally. Maxwell’s Silver Hammer is halfway through and Sirius makes an amused face as the song plays.

“This stuff is crap, you know that? Bowie and Zeppelin are much better.”

“Sorry I’m not a punk like you and Remus!” The song ends and Oh! Darling starts up. James grins as he starts to sing it along to Sirius. 

_ Oh darling, please believe me! I’ll never do you no harm.  _

He sways along to the music and watches Sirius laugh and shake his head. 

_ Believe me when I beg you, wooo! Don’t ever leave me alone!  _

James grabs Sirius hands and pulls him around to the music while the other boy looks mortified.

“I’m  _ not  _ dancing with you!”

“Yes you are! Aaah,  _ I nearly fell down and DIED _ !  _ Oh, darling!”  _

“James!” James is almost straddling Sirius and howling along to McCartney’s rough vocals. 

“I bloody love the Beatles, leave me be!” He collapses next to Sirius and continues belting out the song from his lying down position. Sirius laughs next to him, clutching his stomach as James’s performance becomes more and more ridiculously theatrical. The song ends and Octopus’s Garden starts. “Ah, here’s Ringo.” James’s favorite Beatle is McCartney and he prefers his and Lennon’s songs anyway.

Sirius enjoys the electric guitar, though, and doesn’t complain as much. When Here Comes The Sun starts, though, he groans audibly.

“God, this is so sappy!”

“It’s lovely!” James responds. “Come on, let the lyrics  _ speak  _ to you. It’s all metaphorical. Look- it’s been a long cold lonely winter, but now the sun is out and you’re here! And it’s alright, isn’t it?” Sirius gives him a strange look that James can’t yet pen as love.

“It is alright.”

“I reckon it is.” 


	25. [YR 2] A Little Worn Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long ass chapter full of sneakiness, drama, and loooove <3 
> 
> lyrics from "summer" by real friends

**_1973_ **

_ you were easy on my eyes, you were heavy on my heart _

**r**

“Lads, I’ve been thinking.” Sirius’s voice, studious and sober. With the buried excitement in the background that can only mean bad things. It’s late January and the marauders are stuck up in the dormitory. There’s a blizzard taking place outside and Remus sits in the windowsill watching the snow beat and twist against itself in the grey air.

“Is that why I smell burning?” Remus jokes, earning two well timed laughs from Peter and James. 

“Piss off, Moony. I was off doing some exploring yesterday after class and stumbled upon the laundry room.”

“So you can finally wear something clean?” Remus shoots back and Sirius rolls his eyes again. 

“Can we keep the sarcastic remarks to a minimum? Anyways, I was thinking.” He pauses for dramatic effect and Remus opens his mouth to throw in another sarcastic comment, but one dark look from Sirius has the words dying on his tongue. “We should mess with the uniforms.” 

“Ah.” James says, tapping his quill against his chin. It might not be obvious to Sirius, but Remus snickers at James acting like he has any idea what Sirius is on about. 

“I’m thinking we should charm them all in Gryffindor colors, or duplicate our own to make them all the same. It would be kind of fun. And nice, I think, seeing the whole school in Gryffindor colors. House spirit!”

“Actually.” James says, now looking like he understands. “We could do that for Quidditch.” Remus groans.

“Always about Quidditch!”

“Hear me out!” James protests, sitting up straight. His hair looks more ridiculously tousled than usual and all three of his friends find it hard to take him seriously when there’s a literal birds’ nest atop his head. “We should make a note of that- Gryffindor doesn’t have another match until the first week of March, but wouldn’t it be a laugh if everyone’s robes were charmed to support us?” 

“Huh.” Peter says.

“True.” Sirius responds. “Moony, remind me of working on this in March.”

“Will do.”

“Brilliant.” They sit in silence for a bit, looking around at each other after Sirius’s idea has been dealt with. When it becomes clear that no one else has much to say, he speaks up again.“Well, we need to pull a prank sometime soon. Ours have been rather dry this year.” That much is true. Their biggest prank in second year so far has been when Sirius rigged over a hundred dungbombs to explode all over the school- conveniently just not anywhere near the Gryffindor towers. They had gotten away with that one too, and Remus decides not to feel too bad about his friends in other houses that had taken the brunt of the prank. Oh well.

“Actually, I’ve been doing some, er, research, lately, like. For potions.” As always, the three boys pay perfect attention to Remus, who’s gotten more comfortable with having many pairs of eyes on him. “You know, I’ve been doing all that remedial stuff for Slughorn, I have.” 

“I have.” Sirius mimics softly and Remus gives him the two fingered salute. 

“I’m Welsh, you twat, can’t help it. Anyways, I was reading up about brewing the Polyjuice Potion.” He’s met with a ringing silence. 

“Moony, if you haven’t noticed, we’re all dismal at potions.” Sirius points out. 

“Unless your tutoring has made you magically excellent!” James offers.

“Well, it hasn’t, really. I just think it would be a fun sort of challenge.” Remus is that sort of nerd who enjoys doing difficult things for fun and looks confused at all the dismayed expressions on the faces of his friends. 

“I dunno, Remus, what if it goes wrong? That’s way advanced.” Peter mumbles nervously. He hasn’t really picked up on Remus’s new nickname and only uses it awkwardly, making it painful for essentially everyone involved in the use of it. 

“And besides, who would we turn into?” James asks. Remus is surprised that neither he nor Sirius seem to be completely on board with it, and wonders if he’s really  _ that  _ bad at potions to render them with absolutely no confidence in him. 

“I dunno… what about each other, like? Wouldn’t that be a laugh?” They all continue to stare at him like he’s grown another head. “Come on, humor me!”

“Okay…” James says slowly, the first to warm up to this idea. “Okay. That could be fun.”

“It could be.” Sirius adds thoughtfully. “It most definitely could be.”

Brewing the potion, it turns out, is not fun. After their previous attempt to breach Slughorn’s storerooms, Remus decides that he isn’t going to get his fingerprints all over the door and earn himself another month’s worth of detention, so he resolves to play nice with Snape during their tutoring sessions in hopes to fish the ingredients out of him somehow.

The tutoring sessions, by the way, had been going strangely well. Back in the fall, they had started off awkward and strange, with the pair of them falling into uncomfortable silences while waiting for their potions to brew. But James and Sirius have been leaving Snape alone, for the most part, and 1973 has been off to a good start when it comes to being properly polite to the Slytherin boy. He and Remus develop a shaky and unlikely sort of friendship. Remus can almost sort of understand what Lily sees in him as a person.

Snape is very patient, Remus will give him that. Whenever Remus makes a mistake or mucks something up dreadfully, Snape might make a quip about it or give an amused snort, but he never chastises Remus for his ineptitude and will calmly explain the proper way to do it. He’s got a sense of humor, though it takes a few months to show through, and he and Remus start having longer and more personal conversations- first about ordinary things like muggle politics and classes, but then about gossip going around the school- swapping Slytherin stories with Gryffindor ones, even sometimes mentioning family.

Remus grows to learn that Severus Snape is generally okay. 

On a Friday in late January, the pair of them get around to talking about Lily’s birthday. Lily had been ecstatic to know that Remus and Snape were getting along and were becoming something sort of like friends, and sharing the friend in common has let them talk about the presents they’re getting for her, and the plans that the marauders and Lily’s group of girlfriends alike are working on for her.

“When’s your birthday?” Remus asks casually. The boys are working on a Strengthening Solution that Slughorn had given them a lesson on the previous week. Remus had ruined his so badly that the sorry excuse had melted a hole through the bottom of the cauldron and he had been forced to take the sad thing to Professor McGonagall’s office to fix. 

“Ninth of January.” Snape answers, grinding the griffin claw into a powder. “Yours?”

“Tenth March.” They’re not looking at each other, Remus is off in the cupboards trying to find a vial of salamander blood, and he takes this very easy going conversation as a way to at least try to get some of the ingredients. “You wouldn’t know how to make a beautification potion, would you?” Snape doesn’t stop his crushing with the mortar and pestle, but his voice now turns curious. 

“That’s usually a fourth year subject, but I could probably figure it out. Why?” Remus comes upon the vial of blood with an “aha!” and spins around, walking back to the table where they’re working.

“Well I don’t really need to make the potion, necessarily. I just was wanting some boomslang skin. Madam Pomfrey said it might help with fading scars.” Remus tries to sound offhanded about this, but Snape finally looks up at him. Eyes narrowed, but not in suspicion. 

“It might.” He admits, his black eyes flickering over the scars on Remus’s face. “Slughorn has some in his stores, I’m sure he’ll let us have some.”

“D’you mind asking? He’ll probably trust you with it more. I can finish crushing that.” Remus gestures at the mortar and pestle and Snape hands it to him easily. 

“Sure.” He disappears into Slughorn’s office and is back only a few moments later with the kindly professor.

“Remus, my boy, Mr. Snape here says you want to use boomslang skin?” He’s holding a jar of it and Remus thinks about how very close he is to acquiring the final ingredient for the potion. “For something medical?” 

“Yes, professor. Er, Madam Pomfrey told me that it might work to heal scars, and I was going to make a sort of ointment to study.” Slughorn looks at him curiously.

“Those scars, they aren’t from something magical? They’ll be nearly impossible to heal if they are.” Remus tries to keep his embarrassment about the three of them standing around talking about his facial scars at bay.

“No… they’re from a car accident. When I was younger.” Slughorn pats Remus on the shoulder in a fatherly sort of gesture and then proceeds to open the jar of boomslang skin. Amazing, bloody amazing. 

“Be careful with this, okay? I’m trusting you not to do anything nefarious. And I’d be very interested in seeing if you make any discoveries.”

“Of course not, professor.” Remus says innocently, and sees Snape smirk to himself where Slughorn can’t see him. It turns out to be that easy. Remus can finally start brewing the potion.

**s**

Sirius doesn’t mind that one of his best friends has gotten himself into a relationship by second year. Not at all! It’s just that Remus was so bright with relief after opening up about his secret, so easy and warm and perfectly himself that Sirius had been roaring and ready to get back into the prank-pulling adventures of the marauders. But Sirius Black is not known for his patience and the month it takes to brew the Polyjuice Potion proves rather boring for him, as Remus is distracted by Marlene and actually making the potion correctly, while Sirius and the rest of the marauders need something to hold them over until late February.

On Valentine’s Day, Marlene is all over Remus and Peter tells Sirius that he thinks Dorcas Meadowes is kind of pretty, don’t you?, and Sirius thinks about kissing Mary again but then doesn’t because he’s feeling weirdly out of his element and sits on the floor in the common room with his arms crossed while people in love move around him. 

On Marlene’s birthday, the 16th, Remus spends the whole day making eyes at her enough that Sirius and James make retching noises at the dinner table that both earn them smacks upside the head from Lily Evans. It’s only in the common room afterwards that Sirius gets a taste of bitter victory.

Sirius had checked over his moon chart for Astronomy to know that the full moon in February was taking place on the seventeenth. Poor Remus turns into a moody mess in the days before the full moon, and on that night, Sirius can practically see his patience wearing thin. Or hear it, technically. It’s Friday night, late in the common room and everyone except for Remus and Marlene are playing a long winded game of BS- a muggle card game that Mary has taught them to play. She sits close by Sirius and smiles at him in a way that makes him feel a little hot and uncomfortable.

Remus and Marlene are snuggled in the windowsill and talk quietly during the game, but Sirius starts to eavesdrop on their conversation when it’s clear that Remus is getting annoyed. Marlene’s just trying to snog him, basically, and Remus isn’t being agreeable. From what Sirius picks up, their conversation goes a little like this:

Marlene: You’re so wonderful

Remus: So are you

Marlene: I love your jumper, it’s so soft

Now, Sirius doesn’t know all that much about girls, but at this, he would have offered to let Marlene wear his deliciously soft jumper to please her. Remus does no such thing. He tries, at least: says something about how he got it at a charity shop and that they should go to some together during the summer but Sirius glances over at them to see Marlene pull him closer and Remus nearly throws her off, flinching badly. The start of The Fight that sets the tone for Remus and Marlene’s relationship for the rest of second year. Now Sirius isn’t the only one listening and sees Lily glance briefly over at the windowsill. The conversation continues:

Marlene: What was that for?

Remus: I’m just not in the mood right now

Marlene: To give us a hug? What do you call it, a cwtch? 

Remus’s face darkens when she uses the Welsh word.

“I’m just feeling… I’m feeling shite, I am.” He sounds exasperated and Marlene pulls away from him with a hurt expression on her pretty face. 

“Right, you’re feeling shite. Reasonable. I just wanted to have a nice birthday.”

“For God’s sakes, I’ve been with you all bloody day, doing whatever you want. And you’re angry because I don’t want you grabbing at me every second? Can I get a break?” Lily’s observant green eyes slide over to Sirius, who just shrugs. 

“Chrissake, Remus, it’s my birthday and you’ve got to make it all about you-”

“Marlene, I’m going to tell you this politely, but can you please, for the love of god, just piss  _ off _ ?” Mary’s warm eyes widen upon hearing this and she turns around to see Remus break away from Marlene, jumping off the windowsill and storming past the rest of them, up the stairs to the dormitory.

“That bloody wanker!” Mary exclaims as Marlene sits alone in the windowsill, teary eyed and confused. Sirius doesn’t wait around for the aftermath. James watches but doesn’t move as he follows behind Remus up the stairs to the dormitory. The boy is sitting on the floor red faced with his hair all mussed up, digging through his records.

“Moony, that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“Fuck off, Sirius, I can’t be bothered.”

“Don’t tell me you talk to your mother with that mouth! Dunno how you’ll make that up to Marlene, anyways.” Remus crosses the room to James’s record player and doesn’t look at Sirius as he slides on Zeppelin’s first record. He hikes the volume and sits down heavy on the floor next to the player. Sirius sits down across from him. 

“Is it the moon’s fault, then?”

“Of course it’s the moon.” Remus growls. He covers his face with his hands and Sirius is surprised to see that even his long fingered hands have light scars running across them. 

“You’re not going to apologize?”

“Not in this state, I’ll just bite her head off.” Remus sighs heavily. The music is clearly working to calm him down and he closes his eyes to take deep breaths to Good Times Bad Times. “Bloody girls, bloody birthdays, bloody Marlene… god. What a disaster.”

“Mmm.” Sirius responds sympathetically. “How do you feel about Mary, anyways? I think she’s quite pretty.”

“Ugh!” Remus groans into his hands. “Enough girl talk!” The electric guitar solo is roaring out throughout the room loud enough to leave a ringing in Sirius’s ears, and he’s unsurprised to hear a loud, firm knock on their door. Remus groans even louder but makes no move to turn the music down as Sirius gets up and walks over to the doorway. He opens the door on Frank Longbottom who stands with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Hiya, Frank.” Frank frowns at him.

“Hi Sirius, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind turning down the music, right?”

“What?” Sirius asks, tapping at his ear. “It’s kind of loud.” He can make out Remus laughing in the background and grins as Frank adopts a pleading expression instead of an angry one. He’s Sirius’s favorite prefect. 

“Sirius- the music-”

“What did you say?” Sirius shouts. “Munich? No, I’ve never been.” Remus roars with laughter.

“Are you serious?” Frank realizes his mistake too late when Sirius breaks out his best grin and bellows- “I’m always Sirius!” while Remus collapses in the background. Too soon, the song ends and there’s a momentary period of silence before the quiet acoustics of the next song start up.

“Sorry, Frank!” Remus calls out, finally turning down the volume.

“It’s late, lads, please don’t keep the rest of us up.”

“You’ve got it!” Remus yells and Frank gives Sirius a stern look that Sirius can’t take seriously. Frank says goodnight and heads downstairs, passing James and Peter on their way up. The three of them return to the dormitory where Remus is moving his head to the music. 

“Moony-” James starts, but is promptly cut off by his friend.

“Don’t talk to me about Marlene, I can’t be bothered. Have the girls gone to bed?” Remus asks, and Peter nods. “Excellent, I’m going to check on the potion.” He’s been checking on his Polyjuice Potion every other night, and is brewing it in the same second floor girl’s lavatory where they had brewed the poisons for Snape last year.

“I’ll come.” Sirius offers, and in Remus’s momentary good humor, he shrugs endearingly. They’re quiet on the walk down to the lavatory, shuffling together under James’s invisibility cloak, but Sirius gets chatting to Remus as he looks over the muddy looking potion. 

“Moony, who d’you think out of us will be made prefects?”

“None of us,” Remus scoffs. “The marauders? As prefects? McGonagall would rather kill herself.” 

“True. But if she had to pick one…” Remus doesn’t seem to be listening anymore and frowns at the murky potion. “It’d have to be you.”

“Look at us, right now. Brewing a dangerous sort of potion. I doubt it. Does this  _ look  _ right?” 

“God, that’s not what I want to hear.” Sirius comes over and looks at the brown, chunky looking potion. “Looks disgusting.”

“Then maybe I did do it right.” Remus rubs at his chin thoughtfully. In the watery dark light of the bathroom, he looks very mysterious and dark, and Sirius is once again struck by how absolutely  _ cool  _ he is. He’s got a mouth like a sailor and his moods turn like waves, but he’s fair and fun and devious when it comes to it. He’s a marauder and he’s Sirius’s friend. He’s Remus Lupin and he’s the coolest person Sirius has ever met.

**j**

“Okay, Potter, try it again!” Yetta shouts, sounding exasperated. Her, Hyatt, and James are all out freezing on the Quidditch pitch on a Friday morning where all of them have spare periods. It’s late February and although the snow (for the most part) has stopped, there are bitter winds blowing at them and James is so frustrated that he seems to get worse at the manoeuvres that Yetta is attempting to teach them.

They’d practiced the Porskoff Play about a hundred times until James and Hyatt had become sure that they could do it in their sleep. Now, Yetta is trying to teach James the sloth grip roll while Hyatt smacks bludgers at him. 

“I’m just a bit…” James starts, hovering nervously on his broom while Yetta glares at him. He can’t use the word  _ scared,  _ that’s unbecoming. “I’m a little apprehensive!”

“Apprehensive!” Hyatt laughs good naturedly, tossing a bludger up and down in the air. Yetta throws her hands up in indignation. 

“I’ll be hanging upside down! 100 feet in the air! Off a broomstick!”

“Yes, like the rest of us do!” Yetta shoots back. She picks up speed on her broom and demonstrates the terrifying move, which involves hanging off the bottom of her broom like a sloth as Hyatt hits a well aimed bludger at her. It flies over where her head had been moments before, and James watches as she rights herself and takes off after the bludger, catching it and tossing it back to Hyatt. 

The heavy grey clouds hanging low overhead have started to spit icy rain and James shudders as Yetta flies back towards him. 

“Show me the move, and we won’t have to stay out in this weather any longer. Ibex, go.” She instructs, and James watches Hyatt pull his bat back as James makes a loop around the pitch. There’s a loud THWACK as the bat hits the bludger and James does a mental prayer before trying the move. He makes it halfway upside down, enough to barely dodge the bludger, but he loses his grip on his broom and lets out a childish scream before righting himself and panting as he grabs onto the broomstick with all his might. Hyatt laughs while Yetta just shakes her head. 

“Needs some work, Potter.”

She’s right. James practices throughout the week but by the time their match against Hufflepuff rolls around on Saturday, he’s barely improved. The weather had been dismal all week, and there’s a cold rainstorm taking place on the morning of their match. The stands are full of umbrellas, and James feels disheartened by not being able to see the faces of his friends. Besides, he needs to focus on the game. It isn’t going well. One of the beaters on the Hufflepuff team, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is absolutely relentless. James can’t fly two feet without having a ball smacked at him, and Rosa and Dottie work hard to keep up.

Yetta scores a few points, she always does, but their new keeper Magnolis is struggling as badly as the rest of them. The weather is making the game tough to play, and Yetta, the Hufflepuff beaters, and two of their chasers seem like the only people able to keep up. This is until Hyatt flies right up to James and tosses him the quaffle so easily that it could have been missed by anyone watching. Hyatt speeds away towards a goal as though he’s trying to score, and James follows behind, hoping that someone, at least, is confused. 

A bludger goes after Hyatt but he dodges it expertly. Unfortunately, his move reveals that he hasn’t got the quaffle after all, and James puts on speeds as he hurtles towards the Hufflepuff hoops, being buffeted by the hard rain. He draws an arm back, ready to throw the ball, and then he hears Dottie cry desperately- “Potter, watch out!” 

He’s too late. There’s a bludger bending the air right in front of him and in a moment of panic, the only thing that James can think is- sloth grip roll. And then he doesn’t think anything.

In retrospect, James would’ve laughed at himself for going down so hard. The bludger had hit him right in the face and he had been carried backwards by it, hovering for a moment in the air as the ball rocked his head back, and then he fell. He fell forty feet like a raindrop glowing scarlet and gold and hit the ground hard enough for people in the stands to hear the CRACK.

James wakes up hours later in the hospital wing with a headache bad enough to bring tears to his eyes. Things in front of him are blurry and out of focus, probably because he doesn’t have his glasses on, but he doesn’t mentally recognize that logic and shrieks in a panic-

“Have I gone  _ blind!?” _ That doesn’t turn out to be the case. Madam Pomfrey hands him his glasses while preparing a headache draught for him to drink. 

“Calm down, Mr. Potter, you just have a concussion. Broke some bones, but you’ll be fine in a few days.” She seems to be finding this much less of a big deal than James is, and he reaches a hand up to his nose, which feels stuffy and odd.

“Broke some bones?” He stammers as she shoves the draught into his hand.

“Drink.” He does.

“Which bones?” James makes a face, the draught takes awful, but a queer cool feeling wipes through his head and seems to clear the headache. It’s very nice and relieving, but it gives way to the pain he can feel in his arm. 

“Broke a few in your arm, and your wrist. And the nose, of course. They’re on the mend, you just have to be careful.” His left arm is wrapped in bandages and splinted, and James is glad at least that it wasn’t his dominant arm rendered useless. He goes crossed eyed while trying to look at his nose, which also feels sort of splinted, and is covered with a bandage. Madam Pomfrey sighs as though something has upset her. “Are you up for some visitors? Your friends have been waiting outside all afternoon.”

“Oh, grand! I was wondering where they were.” James shuffles awkwardly to sit up straighter while Pomfrey walks to open the doors to the hospital wing. Sirius is the first inside, holding something out in front of him while Remus, Peter, Yetta, Hyatt, Dottie, and Rosa all enter. James breaks into a grin as they surround his bed, chatting anxiously. 

“Look at this photo Pete got of you falling!” Sirius cheers, shoving a polaroid picture into James’s working hand. "He took it at _exactly_ the right time you got hit, how brill is that?"

“How bad is the break?” Yetta asks, her face a mask of worry.

“Can I sign that cast?” Hyatt.

“We thought you’d  _ died _ .” Peter.

“I have a pen, let me sign.” Rosa.

“Christ, your nose looks dreadful.” Dottie. 

James is happy to be the center of attention and talks to all of them with marked enthusiasm, forgetting all about the aches of his mending bones. 

“It’s not so bad, it barely hurts, honestly. I’m sure I’ll be back on the pitch in no time! Did we win?” Yetta nods, looking relieved to see him so lively after she watched him fall unconscious onto the pitch. His body had hit the ground hard, but there had been enough mud to soften the blow a little bit. She doesn’t want to imagine how sickening the injuries would have been if he’d landed face first. 

“Izzy caught the snitch right as you fell, but no one noticed until she actually told us.”

“Oh wow, I caught that much attention?” Yetta grins with the comfort of seeing James acting like his old self, but after the Quidditch team leaves and he spends hours talking with the marauders, his headache seems to creep back behind his eyes and he’s nearly relieved when Madam Pomfrey forces them to leave after dinnertime. Pomfrey gives him another sleeping draught and he’s out like a light. He sleeps through the whole next day, unbothered by the classes he’s missing, and keeping himself busy by eating the chocolates that Remus had left with him and reading a book that Remus had lent to him. It’s one of his American books, this one called On the Road by Jack Kerouac. James thinks it’s brilliant. His friends stop by during their free period, but the bright light they let through the curtains and the loud noise they bring with them makes his headache return and James curses his concussion, wishing he could be happy among friends again.

They leave, he naps, and at some point in the early evening, Madam Pomfrey wakes him up to check out the bones in his arm. 

“Ah, you’re doing better.” She says as she feels his arm. It hurts but James tries not to wince. “Your arm will be better by next week, at most. And your nose, a few days.” She stands up and looks at the boy. “I can give you tomorrow off of classes as well, but I think you’ll be fine by Wednesday.”

“Excellent, thanks.” Pomfrey nods and gives him a weak smile. There’s a soft knock at one of the high doors to the infirmary, and both of them look over to see Lily Evans, of all people, walk in.

“Hello.” She says softly, taking a few nervous steps inside. “Okay if I visit?” She asks Madam Pomfrey, who nods generously and returns to her office at the end of the wing. 

“Hiya, Evans!” James sits up straight and beams at the red haired girl who gives him an endearing smile as she looks over his bruised, battered form. 

“Alright, Potter? I brought you notes from History of Magic. All about the International Warlock Convention of 1289. Or 1298? I can’t remember.”

“A fascinating topic, Binns truly outdid himself with this one. Cheers.” Lily sits down on a chair next to his bed and passes him a few neatly written sheets of parchment. It doesn’t seem to be grey and rainy outside for once, maybe it’s fate, and the golden light from outside illuminates Lily in a glowing burst of fleeting beauty.

Her red hair looks like a haze of scorching fire when the sun catches it, and her green eyes sparkle like emeralds to match the ruby red locks and there’s an amused but sympathetic smile on her freckled face. James never quite sees her the same way again. Maybe it’s the concussion or maybe it’s just the way she looks in the light- bright and burning on like a picture of perfection. James Potter falls in love. 


	26. [YR 2] Forgot Myself

_ you’re a shapeshifter, you’re never gonna get the girl _

_ you’re a shapeshifter, you’re never gonna change the world  _

**r**

“Remus, how d’you feel about love?” It’s Remus’s birthday and he’s spending the tail end of the night in the second floor girl’s lavatories. This is becoming a location most familiar to him, but the polyjuice will be finished brewing by tomorrow and he’ll be out of excuses to lounge around on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. 

Tonight is March 10th, Remus’s thirteenth birthday. He’s flushed in the face from drinking rum that a straight faced Edgar Bones had poured into his butterbeer, only dropping him a wink as a form of well wishing. After the party had ended (a party that Remus had endured much easier than previous ones due to the warmth of the alcohol), he had said something about checking on the potion, and James had insisted on joining him. Sirius had been restrained by Mary and forced to help clean up because, according to her, men get away with doing too little these days.

Remus had checked the potions and they all looked fine and ready to drink, at least in his eyes, but James has asked him a question about love and now he has nowhere to go. 

“Huh?” Remus asks stupidly. James is sitting with his butt in a sink, his legs dangling off the edge. Remus is sprawled messily on the floor by the cauldrons. 

“Love.” James muses, his eyes glassy behind his freshly-taped glasses. They had broken, along with many other things, when James had taken his legendary fall, but his eyesight is very bad and he had explained that he would have to visit the optometrist when he got home to get a new prescription. Remus, Lily, and Mary had burst into laughter at hearing James talk about the optometrist.

“I thought there would be some fancy wizarding type!” Mary had explained through tears. “Never thought I’d hear James Potter say the word ‘optometrist!” And back to laughing. James had stared at them nonplussed, and then looked at Peter and Sirius in a confused way. 

“It’s where you get eyeglasses…?”

James had attempted to mend the glasses through magic but they always joined crookedly, and he’s resorted to using sellotape to wrap the hinges back together in a way that suits him. His glasses look wonky, as does his nose, which sits a little crookedly since the break. His thick black hair sticks up in the back and goes every which way in the front, and he’s tied a tie around his forehead to hold it back. Long story short, he looks ridiculous.

Remus had been sweating through his jumper at the party but hadn’t taken it off until they had reached the lavatory. His hair is longer than usual and tonight looks nearly as untidy as James’s- a fluffy mess of curls. Under the heavy jumper he’s wearing an awful novelty shirt that Mary had gifted him which reads “SEXY, SMART, AND WELSH in bright green letters. The shirt is red and bad quality, Mary had spotted it in some tourist shop in London, but Remus loves it in the way that an owner still loves a dog that’s pissed on the carpet. James laughs every time he sees the shirt and there’s a dopey smile on his face as he gazes down at his friend. 

“What about love?”

“That’s the question, innit? What about it?” James seems to realize that he isn’t making sense, and narrows his eyebrows in concentration. “Do you love Marlene, then?” Remus makes a face. 

“I mean, a bit. Not like I want to marry her, or anything. She still isn’t talking to me.” 

“But you love her? Like, how d’you feel when you look at her? Do you feel like dying?”

“That sounds more like hate, it does.”

“Nah, mate, I reckon  _ I’m  _ in love.”

“You’re taking the piss! With who?”

“Lily Evans.” James’s grin grows even wider and Remus stares up at him. “She’s mental.”

“You really love her?”

“She came to visit while I was concussed and it was like she was Aphrodite, or something. I’m smitten.” James sighs. He doesn’t have the complexion to blush or go red like Remus does, but his dark face is lit evenly by his smile. His nose and glasses might be off, but his teeth are perfectly straight, and his smile catches. Always does. Remus lies back on the floor and looks up at the high ceiling with a similar silly grin on his face. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about her and her hair and her freckles and the way she talks and her handwriting. And her mismatched socks and how she always eats the same thing for breakfast- toast with raspberry jam and a pear.”

“Wow.”

“What does Marlene eat for breakfast?” Remus sighs again but answers without hesitation.

“Porridge, and she puts cinnamon on it and cuts a banana over it to make it look pretty.”

“Aw, you so love her if you know what she eats for breakfast.” Remus wonders if that’s a surefire way to calculate love. He might’ve blushed, but the lavatory is hot and he’s always too warm anyways, so James doesn’t notice. “I’m sorry she’s still angry.”

“Well, the thing is, she has a right to be. I was a right tosser.”

“You sort of were.” Remus throws his arms over his face as he lays on his back and sighs, very loudly, again. “What’s with all of this sighing, then? What’s wrong?”

“I dunno how to apologize because I have to keep lying to her about the… about my… well-”

“About your furry little problem?” James asks without missing a beat. Remus snorts.

“Yeah, call it that. And I’m bad at lying, I am.”

“You really are.”

“And it makes me angry to have to lie to her, but what else can I do?”

“Tell her.”

“Nah.” Remus keeps his arms over his face and James shifts uncomfortably in the sink, wondering why he’s sitting there in the first place. 

“Who d’you want to turn into first? With the potion?” James asks as a change of subject. The sink is growing too uncomfortable and he pulls himself out of it to sit down across from Remus on the floor, by the boy’s feet. Unlike Lily, Remus wears matched socks, and his are colorful and groovy. James squints at them while Remus sits back up.

“Dunno, I don’t really care.” He looks at James and feels his heart soften at his friend’s bizarre appearance. “Actually, though, well. Could you be me, first? You’re the only one who’s seen all the, the scars, and I don’t want the others...-”

“Yeah, of course.” James cuts him off and Remus is grateful. He’s so deeply insecure about all the scars and wishes badly that he could just get over it, but he’s only just gotten comfortable with the marauders seeing the marks along his bare arms. He also knows that of all people, James will be the one to make the least fuss about the scars. This polyjuice situation is just supposed to be for fun, and Remus would like to keep it that way rather than having it turn into a pity party for him. 

“They’re kind of bad, they are.”

“The scars?”

“Mhm.” Remus doesn’t make eye contact now and chews at his lip instead. “So don’t be surprised, like.” 

“Okay,” James says in an easy sort of tone that always makes Remus feel comfortable. “No worries.”

**s**

Sirius Black is taking a classic late night cataloging stroll down around the basements with his lit wand in one hand and the creased map in the other with a biro pen in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he’s so interested in working on Peter’s old map, but the four of them have taken to adding on to it as something to do. It’s probably the best map of Hogwarts out there, as the school is so big and constantly changing. Peter had offered to come but Sirius gets a little techy with too much of his company and had given him to Remus to babysit.

It’s at midnight, near the Hufflepuff common room and the kitchens, where Sirius had been considering stopping by for a snack, when he runs into trouble. Literally. Sirius has his face buried in the map and isn’t looking where he’s going, so when he sees a trainer attached to a leg attached to a girl's body on the floor in front of him, he stops cold.

There are three boys crouched over her face, doing something to it, not noticing Sirius. Of course, he’s invisible, but he tends to forget about it when wearing the cloak and feels his heartbeat speed up as he takes a few steps away from the girl’s foot and peers into the darkness, wondering what they’re doing. It can’t be anything good. They look like first years but in the darkness, he can’t tell what house they’re in. The girl on the floor has robes trimmed in yellow, a Hufflepuff, and seems as though she’s been petrified. Sirius takes a deep breath, stuffs the map and pen into his pockets, and whips off the coat to shout-

“Oi!” The three boys jump away from her immediately, faces white with shock. The light of Sirius’s wand picks up their Slytherin robes and Sirius feels a sickening lurch in his stomach when he meets the familiar cold eyes of his own brother. “What do you think you’re doing?” The boys stammer and Regulus looks down at his feet.

“What are  _ you  _ doing, anyways? You’re not even a prefect!” One of the boys sneers. He has thin brown hair that falls in his skinny face. 

“That means I don’t have to follow the rules.  _ Expelliarmus! _ ” The boy’s wand flies out of his hand and scatters back towards Sirius. He picks it up. “You two, go back to your common room.” They hesitate. “ _ Now _ .”

“Who are you to tell us what to do? Give me back my wand.”

“I’ll snap it.” Sirius threatens, testing the boy’s wand in his hand.

“No!”

“ _ No! _ ” Sirius mimics, bending the boy’s brown wand in his hand. “I don’t mind! Go back to your dormitory, or I will!” There’s panic in the boy’s eyes, but his classmate knocks his shoulder gently.

“Let’s go, Evan.” He mumbles softly.

“That’s right,  _ Evan. _ ” Sirius steps closer to him and sees Regulus squirm miserably. “You can get your wand back from Professor Slughorn tomorrow.” Evan looks at Sirius evenly.

“What do you want with Regulus, anyways?”

“He’s my brother.” Sirius puts it plainly. “And what I want with him is none of your business.” Now, at least, Evan looks away. Sirius bends at his wand again and the boy turns away in a huff, rushing off with his companion behind him. Sirius pockets Evan’s wand, wishing briefly and furiously that he had snapped it after all.

“What in the bloody  _ fuck  _ do you think you’re doing?” Sirius asks, grabbing his brother’s shoulders. 

“Let me go-”

“What have you done to her?” Sirius crouches next to the Hufflepuff girl. She’s been hit with a full body bind curse, and the Slytherins have written MUDBLOOD across her forehead and drawn a curly moustache over her top lip. It’s childish and horrible and Sirius looks up at Regulus who seems to share the terrified expression as the girl. “Where’s your wand?” Sirius demands. Regulus takes it out of his robes with shaking hands. “Undo it.” 

“What?” Regulus’s grey eyes widen as he stares down at the girl. 

“You thought you could mess about with her, undo it.”

“I-I… I don’t know, I… I don’t know how.” Regulus’s voice tapers off into a whisper. His hand is shaking badly.

“You don’t know how? You wanted her to lie here all night until someone found her? She wasn’t going to wake up on her own, was she?” Regulus’s face is white and he stares at his older brother in fear. “ _ Was _ she?”

“I don’t know!” Regulus squeaks. There are tears in his eyes and Sirius feels a rush of hatred for him. 

“Messing about with magic you know nothing about. You know  _ nothing,  _ Regulus.” Sirius turns back to the girl and sighs before he tries to wipe off her face. There’s a rush of relief when the ink blurs on her face and Sirius thanks any god above that the first years had been too stupid to research making the ink permanent. Sirius takes care to wipe the words and moustache off of her face, not wanting her to look in the mirror when she gets back to her dormitory to see pureblood hatred staring back at her. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Shut up.” Sirius looks down at the Hufflepuff. She’s Indian and has a medium brown skin tone. Her black hair goes down to her shoulders and she wears glittering earrings designed like little badgers. Sirius would have ordinarily never noticed her, but here she is, subject to the bullying of none other than his younger brother. He imagines if it had been Mary left to lie on the ground until morning, the words MUDBLOOD scrawled carelessly across her forehead. He turns back to Regulus.

“You can follow whatever mum wants you to do. You can boast about being in the Sacred Twenty-Eight and you can curse your classmates for being muggleborn and leave them lying on the floor in the middle of the night and you can make them hate themselves.” Regulus won’t look at him. “Look at me, Regulus.” His younger brother shakes his head. “ _ Look at me! _ ” Sirius shouts, not caring if Filch or the Hufflepuff Head Boy or Professor Sprout herself shows up. 

“You can make their lives miserable and make the family proud, but I hope you know that I won’t look at you the same.” Regulus’s eyes are red and misty and Sirius only momentarily feels the sting of making his little brother cry. “I won’t _look_ at you the same, I won’t _treat_ you the same, and I won’t _love_ you the same.” He lets the words sink in. “Now piss off back to your dormitory.” Regulus sniffs, wipes at his eyes, and disappears into the darkness of the hallway without another word. Sirius kneels down next to the girl and whispers “ _ reparifors”  _ quietly. She stirs and sits up right away, staring around in a panic.

“Where am- wha- what happened?” Her brown eyes move back and forth fast with worry and Sirius puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, hey, it’s okay. You were… you were cursed by some Slytherins, but it’s okay now.” She jumps when he says ‘curse’ and he works to reassure her. “It’s okay, I’ve undone it, it’s fine.”

“Was it Rosier?” She whispers fearfully, glancing around the hallway. “Was it Rosier and Scabior?” 

“I don’t know their names, I’m in Gryffindor.” He taps at his robes as if to prove he’s telling the truth. “Let’s get you back to your dormitory, okay?” He helps her up and walks her back to the Hufflepuff common room. He never learns her name and she never asks his. They reach a pile of barrels stacked sloppily along the wall. She taps at one of the barrels, and the walls shift to reveal an earthy passageway.

“Thank you.” She breathes, and then she’s gone.

**j**

They sit in a circle on the floor of the dormitory and grin at each other like idiots, each holding a different colored vial of Polyjuice Potion. James is becoming Remus, Peter is becoming Sirius, Remus is becoming Peter, and Sirius is becoming James. Remus had suggested an even swap where him and James would turn into each other and Sirius and Peter would do the same, but Sirius had balked at the idea of spending a day as Peter Pettigrew and had given that duty to Remus, who hadn’t argued because he’s kind and unselfish. 

James holds his vial out to the middle of them.

“A toast.” The other three laugh but clink their vials together. The vial in James’s hand is a golden orangey hue, like the way the world looks before sunset on a summer’s day. Remus Lupin colored. James’s own essence in Sirius’s hand is a rich red that looks a bit like blood but has a shaded glow to it. Sirius’s is a sparkling sea green, and Peter’s is a calm beige that looks a bit like milky coffee.

“Cheers!”

“Bottoms up.” Sirius says in a mutual agreement, and then empties the vial down his throat. James follows suit and swallows it all in one go, screwing up his face at the strange flavor of it. 

“Blegh!” Peter looks green in the face and sticks his tongue out, shuddering from head to toe. 

“Merlin, Pete, do I taste that bad?” Sirius jokes in his own voice, and then makes a sudden retching noise, bending over forwards. James feels like he’s going to be sick. His stomach twists and knots like there’s worms in his belly and then fire- he feels like he’s on fire and stares down at his hands to make sure they’re not up in flames, but they’re not his hands anymore. 

The thin skin stretched over his bones- or Remus’s bones?- is bubbling disgustingly and then he feels the physical transformations. His joints stretch awkwardly as he grows taller, his skin turns from dark brown to a tanned white, and he feels his muscles hollow into scrawniness as he turns into skinny Remus Lupin. A heartbeat later, the werewolf catches up.

His heart beats double time and a hot feeling washes over him like he’s got a fever. Sweat jumps to his brow and he’s overwhelmed by a dull but painful aching all over his body. It hurts to be Remus, and when James looks into the eyes of the real Remus, hidden behind the soft blue facade of Peter’s eyes, he can understand the fear and regret that comes with this stupid experiment they’ve done.

“I’m sorry,” Remus, now Peter, apologizes in his new high pitched voice. “The moon is in a few days and I get all achey-”

“It’s fine.” James responds in a lower, hoarser voice. “Blimey, this is weird.” 

“Give me your- _ my- _ glasses, mate.” Sirius says, waving his hand around in the air. “Your vision is terrible!” James realizes that he’s seeing everything through a fuzzy haze and hands his taped glasses to Sirius, who raises a very familiar pair of eyebrows and smiles a very familiar grin as he sticks the spectacles on. “So this is what it feels like to be the great James Potter!” He shouts jauntily, hopping up to his feet. 

James gets up shakily, feeling scabs stretch under his skin and the strange achey pain continues to float around him. 

“Alright, let’s go downstairs!” James says brightly, headed for the doors.

“Wait!” Remus calls after him and Sirius, who’s right next to him. “Don’t be- don’t be  _ stupid,  _ okay? You’re me!”

“I know!” James shouts over his shoulder as he and Sirius pound downstairs, looking around the common room in breathless delight.

“Alright, Evans?” Sirius asks in a strangely familiar voice, and James watches with increasing weirdness as he watches his own body flounce across the common room with Sirius’s flirtatious energy. Lily is sitting with Marlene, and James takes on a wide grin. This could really be fun. He follows behind Sirius and sits down at the table with the two of them.

“How’s things?” He asks conversationally as Marlene shifts away from him. Damn, he’s forgotten about the cold front between her and Remus. Maybe he can try to fix it. 

“You two want to play a game, or something?” Sirius asks. He runs his hands back through his new hair and seems to forget that he doesn’t have long locks anymore- just James’s untidy mane.

“Sure, wouldn’t that be fun?” James chimes in. “Evans, one of your muggle card games, maybe?” Lily fixes him with a weird look and James grins despite himself under her curious gaze. Whenever she looks at him there’s usually a trace of irritation in her mannerisms, but James has to constantly remember that he’s Remus, not James, and Lily Evans actually likes him as a person.  _ Evans,  _ blast, that’s it! Remus calls her by her first name with this soft sort of familiarity that James finds himself jealous of on bad days.

“Are you feeling alright, Remus? You’re acting a little… expressive.”

“It’s just a good day to be alive, innit? Marlene, do you fancy a game?” Marlene, however, frowns at him.

“I’m trying to get this Potions work done.”

“I’ve finished that, McKinnon,” Sirius offers. “You can just copy mine.”

“But I’m genuinely trying to learn it.” She protests.

“We have all the time in the world for homework, don’t you want to spend some time with your friends?” James puts in. Her blue eyes skirt his face again and Lily purses her lips. James then makes a very un-Remus-like decision. “Marlene, I’m sorry. I really am. I acted a right wanker on your birthday and there’s no excuse for making you feel hurt, and I miss us and I hope you can forgive me.” It’s the patented James Potter Apology- apologizing for your actions, not making any excuses, and sending the ball into the other person’s court. It always works. And it does this afternoon.

Marlene’s cheeks color a little bit and she finally cracks a smile.

“Alright, then. Apology accepted.” 

“Brilliant!” Sirius slaps both her and James on the back which make the pair of them jump. “Crazy eights, then?” 


	27. [YR 2] Dress Up My Fears

_ oh please, just don’t ask me how i’ve been, don’t make me play pretend _

_ what’s the use? _

**r**

James Potter is a good friend. Remus doesn’t know anyone else who would take Polyjuice potion and end up using it to be frank enough to apologize to the person-he's-imitating's girlfriend. Or whatever she might be. James had come back up to find Peter and Remus playing chess and being too afraid to go downstairs for fear of acting strangely and being called out.

Peter had told Remus- “I don’t know how to play pretend. Sirius is so confident, and I’m not him, and I don’t know what to do.” Remus had looked at him evenly and told him that he never really has to be the same as anyone else, that he’s just fine as Peter Pettigrew, and Peter had given him a strange, warm look that Remus had never seen in the grey eyes of Sirius Black. They had played chess and Peter had won, even though Sirius is bad at it. 

James had appeared in the doorway of their dorm, looking over the improbable scene of Peter and Sirius playing chess together, except they weren’t themselves. He had said-

“Moony, I made up with Marlene for you.”

“You did  _ what _ ?!” Remus’s anger hadn’t been respected because it wasn’t his own, it was Peter’s anger, and it frustrated him even further that he wouldn’t be listened to just because he was in someone else’s body. 

“You clearly weren’t going to, so I apologized, and now she’s back in love with you, so you’re welcome.” Remus felt very strange at hearing this rambling, James-esque sentence coming out of his own mouth, in his own voice. But then he realized there was no point in being angry, and James had taken advantage of one situation to make another one better. 

“Thanks, then.” Remus had said, and all had been resolved.

Things are good, now. March turns into April and Marlene is smiling at him again so things are good. One rainy night after dinner, Remus, Marlene, and Dorcas had all gone up to the library to work on Astronomy charts. Sirius (who would usually lend his own perfectly done Astronomy work) and Peter are serving detention for charming bars of soap to follow Snape around all day. James may or may not have been involved in the prank, but had weaseled his way out of punishment because according to him, he needs to get back into Quidditch form after his arm injury, which is a generally fair excuse. 

The three of them sit by the window because Remus likes the sound of rain pattering down outside- it reminds him of home and makes him focus like nothing else. They work for an hour, maybe an hour and a half, until Dorcas and Marlene start packing up their supplies.

“We haven’t finished?” Remus asks in a confused way. Marlene gives him an apologetic look.

“Girl’s night.” She says. “Dorcas’s idea.” The olive skinned girl grins at him. “Doing nails and magical face masks, all sorts of stuff.”

“Oh, sounds fun.” It sounds no such thing. 

“It will be, I’ve been perfecting my aloe-lichen-hummus mask.” Dorcas says in a proud tone and Marlene rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“You make it?” Remus asks her, watching her brown eyes flash.

“Yeah, I reckon I’ll start a muggle spa after I’m done here, just using magical ingredients. The muggles won’t know what hit ‘em.” Remus watches them leave feeling perplexed, and has only just turned back to his work when someone else sits down at the table. James Potter is dripping wet and looks only somewhat ashamed of the tracks of mud that Remus can clearly see on the floor behind him. He’s still in his Quidditch robes and looks dead exhausted.

“Alright, Moony?” James asks in a voice that lacks his usual energy. 

“Hiya, how was practice?”

“Fine.” But the expression on his face doesn’t chalk it up to fine. “My arm’s still a bit wonky, so I’m having a bit of trouble, Yetta’s gotten all worked up about it. She’s in a right state. Threatened to kick me off if I didn’t get back into working form, she probably didn’t mean it because she’s upset and I suppose it’s valid but I’m  _ trying,  _ you know?” He rambles but Remus listens, and understands his frustration.

“I’m sorry, that isn’t fair. Have you talked to Pomfrey about it?” James twists his face at that. He’s been too proud to ask for help.

“Nah, though I reckon I should. Sorry to put all this on you, mate, I’m just… _ argh _ , you know?”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, anyways.” James shifts in his chair and rumples his hair, sending water droplets down onto Remus’s star chart. “I had something I wanted to talk to you about. Relating to your… your furry little problem.” Remus raises his eyebrows at him and James continues. “Well, I dunno much about this, really, but I think you might. It’s just an idea. I was thinking that maybe, for the full moon, you could take the polyjuice and be me and I know you would still transform, I suppose, but you’d do it as me so your body wouldn’t have to get all, to get, I mean-” He backtracks messily and Remus watches in silence as James treads around the delicate topic of Remus’s unfortunate insecurities. “So you wouldn’t have to hurt yourself for the hundredth time, or whatever. I don’t count. So I could take some of the pain for you.”

Remus has no idea how he feels about this. He’s halfway honored that James is offering to physically take the brunt of his transformations. To take the bruises, the scars, the breaks for him. To help him. 

“No way.” Remus says it too quickly and bites his lip, looking at James’s weary expression. “James, I can’t let you, that’s not a good idea. That’s a bad idea.” He doesn’t feel bad about saying it so outright and James now looks wary and wounded at being put out by his friend. 

“Moony, this isn’t something you have to go through alone.”

“It  _ is,  _ James, it isn’t  _ right  _ and it isn't _normal_ .” Remus hisses in a lowered tone, glancing around to make sure no one’s around to be eavesdropping. “I’m not a  _ human  _ when it happens. It’s wrong. It’s not something I need to share.” 

“But you’re human now.” James says in a pleading way. Remus swallows hard. Sometimes he forgets that he's only a wolf one night a month. It’s not  _ that  _ often. He is a human being for 29 days, more or less, and for one night- he’s a wolf. There’s a bright side. There’s a glass half full. There’s James Potter’s unyielding optimism. “Please, Moony, just think about it.”

“James, you’ve just told me that Yetta’s upset because your arm isn’t perfect yet. If you take on… my own injuries, you’re never going to be perfect again.” This is one of those times where Remus looks at his burnt out friend: James Potter who puts his full energy into everything, who works himself down to the bone with being terrifically dedicated to everything he puts time into, and wonders why he’s picked himself, Remus John Lupin, to be friends with. 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, Moony, I was never perfect.” James mumbles. “I’m really offering here.”

“I know.” Remus feels like the necessity to push his friend away is stronger than usual, like he doesn’t want James knowing anything about him being a werewolf. Like he regrets telling him. With Sirius, it’s okay. Sirius doesn’t pry into his pain that way James does. Sirius lets him go through it and doesn’t change the way he looks at him. He hasn’t treated him differently for it, like he’s more wounded and troubled. Sirius still looks at him evenly. 

“Remus, it’s no trouble. I’ll just wake up with some bruises and cuts, and that’s fine.”

“I don’t want you hurting on my account.” Remus snaps in a whisper. "And it's much more than bruises and cuts, James, you have no idea." 

“I’m being serious, mate , I just want to help!” James leans backwards in his chair to make the air more open and friendly. “It’s not a big fuss for me!” Remus is still hunched over the table and forces himself to sit back in a more casual position to match James’s. 

“I’m just as serious.” Remus tries to keep his voice relaxed in a way to end the conversation. “I don’t want to.” 

“Sure, fine. If you like.”

“I’m not trying to be rude, James-” James is standing up and shakes out the still damp sleeves of his Quidditch uniform. His wet hair falls over his face, darkening his tired expression. 

“I’m just trying to help, mate. I’ll see you later.” He waves his hand dismissively and wanders back off through the dark library, disappearing behind a tall bookshelf, probably headed back to the dorms. Remus doesn’t go after him.

**s**

James doesn’t keep quiet about his new idea. He’s the one to sit at the edge of Sirius’s bed late at night just when Sirius had just fallen asleep after over an hour of tossing and turning in his bed. Sirius swears at him before James casts the silencing charm, but falls silent as James relays his Polyjuice idea to Sirius without bothering for formalities.

“And Remus isn’t going to accept anyone’s help but I want to make him know he’s got us, and he doesn’t have to face this all alone.”

“James,” Sirius says in an exasperated tone, “if he doesn’t want our help, then we shouldn’t force it on him. We can’t change his mind.” James looks downcast, clearly not having expected Sirius to put his ideas down so heavily. “Just give him more space, you know? Be more casual.” James scoffs.

“There’s nothing wrong with addressing something head on.” 

“I just think there may be an indirect way to do help.” Sirius offers, not being able to name any of these ways off the top of his head. It doesn’t take long for him to find think of one, though. The scene is set at dinnertime on a boring Wednesday night. Remus and Sirius have gone down later, around 7:45, having been busy checking on a potion that they’re brewing for class. Sirius hates Potions with a stark passion because it interferes with his everyday life and requires him to check on potions with a lengthened brewing time hours after he’s left class. And hours before it. 

Remus had received a thick copy of the Daily Prophet at breakfast and has been reading it on and off all day. It’s a big paper and he doesn’t get that much time to read in between classes, and Sirius is a little annoyed that he’s decided to finish it while they eat their brief dinner. Hyatt Ibex had been finishing dinner with his friends and chatted with Remus at the entrance to the hall for a few minutes while Sirius stood behind awkwardly.

“You two are friendly?” Sirius asks the newspaper blocking out Remus’s face as they sit across from each other. 

“Mhm.” Remus answers in a blank tone, straightening out the paper. “You know Quidditch types, talkative…” He trails off indifferently. 

“Moony,” Sirius whines. “I’m talking to you.” Remus sighs and lowers the paper. He’s pale faced and Sirius frowns at him. “Are you alright?” Remus nods and folds up the newspaper, throwing it down on the bench next to him.

“There’s some news about werewolves.” He says in a brisk, detached voice. 

“Hm?”

“Legislation, at the ministry, like. Registry is tightening up, making it harder for them to get jobs.”

“Oh.” Sirius isn’t sure how Remus wants him to reply, and the other boy pushes his food around on his plate in silence. Sirius had been raised to think negatively of werewolves, following the stigma that most of the wizarding world carries. His mother calls them ‘half breeds’ and makes a nasty face when the subject of them comes up, like they aren’t even people. Like Remus Lupin is the most dangerous thing the world has ever seen. Like they could make to tell him that this boy who wears dodgy jumpers and keeps a secret stash of chocolate and sings along to the Kinks is a murderous beast? Bollocks.

The Great Hall is nearly empty as dinner is almost over, and Sirius gets a little more familiar with Remus.

“So how’s the registry work? Who has to sign it?” 

“Well, parents can do it for their kids, if they’re underage, but you’re given the choice once you’re seventeen. If you don’t sign it and end up hurting someone while you’re transformed…” Remus draws a line with his hand across his neck in a beheading motion, and Sirius feels ill. “You might get off a little easier if you’re registered. But no jobs, no fair treatment, it’s all rubbish. They deserve fair treatment.” Sirius remembers that they’re talking like Remus isn’t a werewolf, and nods in agreement. “Still,” Remus continues in a low voice, “it makes me worried.”

He shows it. It’s mid-April and a few days after the moon, and Remus is still tetchy and wound up. He becomes worried and aggressive and even Marlene gets the hint that he goes through these moods and stays away. The only one that he’ll really talk to is Sirius, and their conversations are full of dry humor and sarcasm. Still, Sirius begins to pick up more on the mannerisms and habits of his friend, realizing that Remus honestly has no positive way of taking out his anger, and doesn’t seem able to get his frustration in check.

One late Friday night, Remus and Sirius take a trip down to the kitchens and take their food up to the deserted Astronomy tower to eat and talk. The night is warm and they sit up by the window, eating pastries that the house elves had given them and looking up at the stars. 

“I’m getting existential.” Remus says slowly, nibbling on a slice of treacle tart he has wrapped up in a napkin.

“Are you?”

“Mhm. I dunno what to do about the registry… and transforming in general, and what’s going to happen after school ends. For me.” It sounds like the same sort of fears that Sirius had dealt with the previous year and had talked about with James, who had reassured him with an even look and the solid temperament of his words. 

“Well, that’s five years away. A lot can happen in five years. A lot of good, mind you.”

“And a lot of bad.” Remus replies. He’s been looking up at the moon which is just a thin sliver in the sky. His hair looks sandy and thick, and his freckles disappear in the moonlight. Sirius thinks he’s very handsome, and Marlene is lucky to have him. 

“And a lot of good.” Sirius repeats gently. Remus finally looks over at him, eyes like dull embers in his face. 

“You know, sometimes I regret telling James about this wolfy business.” Remus seems surprised that he’s said that, but the sentence comes out quickly. “He’s so pushy and insistent when there’s really nothing he can do. Or any of you.”

“He’s just trying to be helpful. He hates not being able to make something better.” Sirius pauses after this, taking a great bite out of the tart in his hands and watching it crumble into its napkin. “You’ll let me talk about it, though,” he continues.

“You’re easier to talk to.” Remus responds. 

“Yeah, but you know James is always there for you. Never lonely with him there.”

“That’s true.” Remus concedes, smiling a little bit. Sirius always manages a smile out of him. They resolve back into silence while Sirius thinks about his own words. About being lonely. 

“You’re sure there’s absolutely no way we can help you?” Sirius asks Remus who rolls his eyes at the continuation of the topic.

“Write my essays for me? If not, better to bugger off.”

“Alright,” Sirius laughs, resolving to leave the topic alone. 

And he does, for that night. But the next, after everyone else (even Remus) is sleeping, he creeps into the restricted section of the library under James’s invisibility cloaks and pokes around books about anigami. Because he has an idea. He thinks there may be a way.

**j**

“Fucking hell, Potter, now you’ve done it! You’ve really done it!” Yetta shouts at James as he ducks a shoe she’s pelted at him. “Don’t run away from me! I’ve had it!” She’s chasing him around the changing rooms after their final (thanks to James) Quidditch match of the year, throwing things at him.

“Yetta-” Hyatt tries to step in, but is pushed aside by the seventh year. 

“That was my last chance!” Yetta’s voice is screaming and hysterical now as she hurls a helmet at him. “That was my last chance! I should’ve taken you off the team when I had the chance! You and your bloody arm!” 

“I’m sorry, I really am-”

“Sorry won’t make this up!” Yetta cries, heaving a shoulder pad at him, but with a little less force. She’s losing steam and Hyatt looks back and forth from her to James. The rest of the team had cleared out of the changing rooms quickly, mumbling their assurances and apologies to Yetta, who had a storm brewing on her face until just James and Hyatt, the two youngest on the team, were left. 

“Horn, to be fair, you can’t blame it all on him.” Hyatt explains reasonably but she sends him a poisonous look. She’s lost her fight though, and sits down heavily on a bench, head in her hands. The semifinal match against Ravenclaw hadn’t gone over well at all and James’s arm aches worse than ever. He rolls his shoulder back as he sits down next to Yetta. Hyatt seems to take this as his opportunity to go, and mouths “good luck” to James before he leaves the pair of them alone in the changing room. To be fair, James had lost them a fair amount of points and in the end, it most likely is all his fault. 

“I’m sorry, Yetta.” James hardly says her first name and he watches her turn her face away from him. “I really am.”

“I know.” She finally looks up at him. James comforts himself by knowing that he’s only facing the brunt of her anger because he’s the youngest and the one who had cost them the match. Anyone would face this punishment. “I just wanted to win, finally, you know? 

“Yeah.” James responds. “Fat chance of making the team next year, huh?” He laughs, mussing up his hair. Yetta finally turns her dark eyes back onto him. 

“You’re a brilliant player, Potter,” She mumbles grudgingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re young, you play just as well. I just worked you too hard too fast after the break. Maybe it’s all my fault.”

“I don’t really think this is a blame game.” James says fairly. “Anyways, who’re you making captain next year?” Yetta shrugs, turning back away from him. 

“Dunno, McGonagall isn’t letting me pick. Sexism.”

“She’s a woman too, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Yetta looks down at the ground. “It’s been good playing with you, James.” She says quietly. “But please, for the love of god, tell whoever’s captain next year to pick an older chaser?” James laughs good naturedly.

“You’ve been the entire reason we’ve been able to hang on this year.” He assures her with a knowing grin. The bad feeling of loss doesn’t last long at all. The end of second year is full of little surprises, one of them being Katie Robinson, James’s good friend from Ravenclaw. 

He’s hanging about in the courtyard on a sunny afternoon, watching Lily Evans and Dorcas Meadowes play Gobstones out of the corner of his eye when Katie sits down next to him. 

“Hiya, James.” She says nervously. 

“Hello Katie!” He’s wearing shorts and a tshirt so he can tan (although with his complexion, it’s not really necessary) and sits up from where he’s been sprawled in the sun. “What’s new with you?” 

“Not much.” She sits down next to him, smoothing her skirt underneath her bare legs, and gives him a warm smile. Katie’s pretty in a cool type of way. She has long black hair and pale skin, which makes the contrast startling. Her eyes are blue and she’s freckle faced, and despite the mismatched features, she still looks good. “Actually, my birthday’s on Saturday.”

“Oh, cool!” 

“And I’m having a party.” She continues, twisting her hands together nervously. “And it'd be ace if you came, if you’d like?” Her greenish blue eyes crinkle with a smile as they meet his. James is sitting with his knees folded up by his chest and his arms hanging over his knees, casual-like.

“Yeah, I’d love to! What time?” She beams all pleased and happy and tells him- Ravenclaw common room at 7:30, she’d wait outside to let him in, and she skips away in delight as James lays back and enjoys the sunshine. 

Her party is a blast. She’s busy for a good lot of it but James makes new friends in Ravenclaw, getting to know a very cool character named Benjy Fenwick, a boy in their year who also flies chaser for Ravenclaw. He has an ear piercing which James thinks is incredibly badass, and Benjy introduces James to his friends, who are kind and welcoming and chat with him until Katie comes by and asks him to dance. 

They dance to pop hits by Sweet, Wizzard, and some sappy stuff by Gary Glitter. It almost has James missing Remus’s taste, but he’ll dance to anything, and he and Katie dance like thirteen can last forever and tomorrow won’t come. 

When it does, Yetta seeks him out in the Gryffindor common room with a big smile on her angular face and tells him with a voice nearly bursting with pride that she’s been offered a chasing tryout for the Falmouth Falcons. James nearly screams with delight and gives her a big hug, offering many congratulations and she grins bashfully as he says she’ll have a million more chances to win so much more than the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. 

Things get even better. Professor McGonagall stops James on his way out of their final Transfiguration lesson of the year and tells him that he’s come top of his class and she’s impressed with him and proud of him. James walks out of that class feeling like he’s floating, bursting with pride at the compliment. 

“What did Minnie want?” Sirius asks when James catches up to him and the rest of the marauders in the hall.

“Came top of the class!” James boasts with a big grin. “Merlin, that feels good. Do any of you fancy a swim?” Sirius and Mary do, so they all go back to the dorms to change into swimsuits. There’s plenty of students enjoying the early summer weather and hanging around on the shore of the Black Lake, so their group moves farther down the shore. Sirius and James are the first to wade into the freezing water and dunk their heads at the same time, coming up laughing and shivering with delight. They swim laps for a while, the dark water glittering in the sunlight, turning their skin into white and brown watery smears dancing under the light.

Mary and Dorcas swim out as well, while Lily, Remus, Marlene, and Peter hang about on the shore. It isn’t long before Dorcas is sitting on James’s shoulders and Mary on Sirius’s, chicken fighting, batting arms at each other and squealing as they get splashed with water. Lily takes a photo from the shore. Mary and Sirius go down first, Mary coming back up with her kinky hair drenched and her ochre eyes dancing with excitement. 

They splash and kick and muck about. Dorcas returns to the shore to lay out by Lily, who’s wearing a very pretty yellow summer dress and is lying back on a towel with big black sunglasses on. Dorcas lies down next to her in her pink swimsuit and they look ordinarily beautiful like that, tanning under the sun. Lily especially. James stares at her for a long while, her hair burning in the light, the freckles on her pale skin standing out. He gawks until Sirius dunks his head under the water and then his momentary train of thought is lost.

Remus and Marlene are wading while Peter shows them how to skip rocks. Some of Peter’s skips hit James and Sirius and they start a rock war, tossing pebbles they swim down to find back towards the three familiar figures on the shore. 

They’re far enough away that James can’t see their faces perfectly, but he thinks he’d recognize them anywhere by now. 


	28. [HOLS '73] Compass Spins in Reverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welsh/british slang lesson for the masses!  
> off license/offy: liquor store  
> beano: party  
> chopsy: cheeky/mouthy
> 
> also, i’m going to be adding new povs in from now on! i figured 2yrs was enough to truly understand our 3 fabulous main characters, so i’m going to make some of the minor ones more well rounded just for the fun of it
> 
> lyrics from "everyday" by modern baseball

_ everyday is all about doing things you don’t want to, but your reward is you get to wake up  _

**r**

Things have changed since Remus has been away at school in terms of his muggle friends. 

Joseph now has a girlfriend named Rebecca, but everyone calls her Beca. She has very long brown hair and smears dark makeup around her eyes like Sirius’s older cousin Bellatrix used to. Joseph has always been friendly and kind but Beca has a dark type of attitude and so Joseph doesn’t take them out to the field to hit things into the air anymore. Well, sometimes he does. Sometimes Beca comes and whines the whole time, tugging at his shoulder and saying she’s bored. 

Beca doesn’t like hanging out with the boys, she likes drinking cheap booze from the off license in town that she gets older kids to buy for her and Joseph. Stanley has picked up smoking and nicks fag packets from the shop that Sion and Remus used to steal fizzy drinks and sweets from the previous summer. 

Stanley shows up at Remus’s house with Sion at his side and a graze mark on his face the first time they smoke.

“Alrigh’ or what?” Stanley asks Remus with his usual wide grin. He’s got a tooth missing and his face looks more lopsided than ever. Sion stands behind him, taller than before and looking very fit. His dark brown hair has grown long down his neck, sort of like a mullet, while Stanley’s head is shaved short. He looks a bit dangerous with the closely shaved head and marks on his face, but his smile is the same as he tells Remus that he’s nicked some fags, would the prestigious Remus Lupin care to try some? and Remus says yes, by god he would, because he doesn’t want to act stuck up around the muggles.

“Got into some action, did you?” Remus asks Stanley as the three of them walk through the muggy afternoon sunshine down Victoria Road, where there’s a big forestry area that they’re keen on visiting to smoke in peace.

“Right, a bit of an extra-curricular.” Stanley jokes loudly. “This lad down at the beano last night got bit chopsy with me, he did, so I took him up, like. Nice and proper.”

“Tidy, like.” Sion mumbles agreeably. 

“Ah.” Remus says. “Lots of parties these days?”

“Oh, plenty. I’ll let ya know the next one I hear about, I will.” Stanley laughs again. “Though if that tosser is there again, I’ll do the same thing all over.”

“‘Course.” Remus shoots a sideways glance to Sion, who gives him a familiar exasperated smile. At least he hasn’t changed. The three of them wander down the road and into a tall thicket of trees. The sunlight filters through the branches, marking up the cool green air with dancing visions of light. Stanley sits down on a thick gnarled root of a tall tree and Sion and Remus follow, sitting down around him.

Stanley hands them each a neat white cigarette from the carton and lights his own before sparking theirs. He inhales like he’s done it before and doesn’t cough, but both Remus and Sion start hacking right away.

“Christ, you two’ve never smoked before?” Stanley asks behind the haze of his cigarette. 

“Blimey,” Sion rasps, thumping at his chest, “These are unfiltered, like?” 

“‘Course, they’re best.” Stanley replies, watching with interest as Remus spits into the grass behind him. He takes another pull on the fag and exhales smoothly. Remus tries to copy him, breathing in with a little less enthusiasm than the first time and exhaling to see cool blue smoke coming out of his mouth. They sit and smoke for hours. Remus finishes his first ciggie and shares half of another with Sion, but his friend goes pale faced and Remus himself feels his stomach clench uncomfortably so he stops after that. Stanley keeps smoking like he’s used to it all by now, and at five thirty, he checks his wristwatch and jumps up quickly, saying he’s late for a family dinner, and waves a goodbye before leaving the woods quickly.

Almost right away, Sion groans and lays back against the tree.

“I feel right ill, I do. My god. Was waiting for him to leave so I could complain. Fucking hell, this is awful.”

“I’m dizzy as all hell, I am.” Remus replies queasily, shuffling back to lean against the trunk of the tree like Sion is doing. “Dunno why he smokes these.”

“Habit, I suppose.” Sion says from the other side. It’s Remus’s first time smoking, and that summer makes a lot of firsts. Sion teaches him how to ride his big old bicycle that everyone seems to have nowadays. Remus had noticed the presence of everyone else having bikes and getting places faster than him, and had insisted on Sion teaching him how to ride.

It turns out to be simple, the way Sion teaches him. He makes Remus sit on the bike and kick around the pavement with his feet, gaining a bit of speed and then breaking. Soon enough, Remus is pedaling and it’s easy as pie- learning to ride a bike. The hard part is acquiring his own.

“No.” Lyall says when Remus asks him about it. “We don’t have the money.”

“But dad-”

“I said no.” It’s breakfast time. Lyall is drinking tea while reading the Daily Prophet, the big paper covering up his face. Remus feels a frustration that’s reminiscent of Sirius’s when Remus himself had been ignoring him for favor of the newspaper back at school. Hope had taken Luke for a walk, leaving father and son to bicker about bicycles. 

“My mate Sion’s brother’s friend is selling one for twenty quid, it’s not a bad price at all! And it’s a good bike! Everyone’s got them now!” Silence. “My mates are going to parties out in Buckley and it’s like an hour walk so I can never go. I’ve got no social life!” he complains dramatically, knowing full well he hardly spends any time at home. 

“Remus.” Lyall flattens the newspaper in front of him and gives his son a hard look. “I haven’t got the money to buy you a bike. When I was your age,” at this, Remus rolls his eyes to high heaven, “I got a job and made my own money to buy things with instead of nagging my parents. I suggest you do the same.” So Remus storms into the village to get a job. It doesn’t take him long. 

After asking in at a few places in town, he walks out farther down the road to pester the less frequented businesses. Clyde Davies is the owner of the garden centre that Remus asks at, and is a bit too joyful at having him asking for work.

“I’ve got three daughters and all of them refuse to work here, don’t want to be carrying plants or moving soil, helping their father, and I’ve always said I need a good, strong boy, I have, and here you are, just when I need you most. God’s heard my prayers, He has, heard that I needed a lad to help me pull this bloody fucking stinking business out of the ground, God forgive me, instead of running it further down all by myself. God bless you, laddie. God bless you.” So Remus gets a job. 

He buys Sion’s brother’s mate’s bike after two weeks of working and attends his first party out in Buckley where he smokes someone’s roll ups without coughing and bikes back late at night on the dark roads, sort of drunk and sort of having the best time of his life. 

It takes him two more weeks to get addicted to cigarettes; the unfiltered ones are raw tobacco and straight nicotine that always leave him craving more. A big ginger bloke named Barry teaches him how to roll his own at a party, and Remus buys loose tobacco from Beca’s girlfriend Wren and the unfiltered fags from Stanley, if he’s in the mood.

It’s so easy to be thirteen and playing a muggle in the summertime. Remus wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**s**

“My oh my, do you look smashing!”

“Piss off.” Regulus tugs at the edge of his collar uncomfortably. He’s been dressed up in the fabled acid green robes that make him look like a dark haired, unhappy lime. 

“Like a key lime pie, so tasty!” It’s the day of Narcissa’s wedding to Lucius Malfoy, and Sirius is enjoying the look of himself in his sleek dark dress robes. His are a lush deep emerald green that sparkle and shine when they catch the light right. Sirius can’t help but admit that green really is his color.

“Everyone’s going to be making fun of me.” Regulus moans pathetically, standing behind Sirius, trying to get a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The Black brothers stare at themselves for a few moments longer before Orion knocks at the door.

“Time to go.” He announces, glancing at the pair of them. His eyes linger longer on Sirius, with a strange expression on his face. Something like sadness. It passes so quickly that Sirius could have imagined it, and his father turns away before Sirius can get another look. Orion is dressed in smart black robes and Walburga wears a flowing midnight blue dress with a lace black throw on top. All together, the Black family looks well put together and intimidating, even Regulus in his mossy dress robes. The color matches the bright green that flashes in the fireplace as they’re transported to Malfoy manor, a mansion that Sirius had grown up going to dinner parties at. 

The grounds are massive and sweeping- green hills with brilliant flower beds blooming different colors. There’s tall green trees ringing the edge of the grounds, soaring up to touch the bright clear blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. It’s a beautiful day for a wedding, and Sirius feels the familiar unfair sting of jealousy that comes with wondering why  _ he  _ couldn't have had a house with grounds like these. He always gets the short end of the straw. 

Everyone is there. Sirius is greeted by family members he hasn’t seen for years, and is dragged about by his parents to talk to family friends, all pure bloods, sacred 28, staring down the bridges of their noses at scruffy Sirius Black, paraded about by parents who don’t really love him. They have more to say about Regulus- just finished his first year at Hogwarts, sorted into Slytherin, top of his class in Potions. There’s not as much to say about the Black heir, who still keeps a charming smile on his face and works hard to be on his best behavior. 

He sits up eagerly in his chair to watch as Narcissa is walked down the aisle by Uncle Cygnus. She wears a gorgeous A-line dress- white and strapless with a bodice made of white lace in what look like the shapes of flowers. Daffodils, maybe. Sirius isn’t sure. Her silvery white hair is loose and unadorned by her back. And she’s smiling, too. Sirius listens to the vows and watches the kiss and sees how happy his cousin looks, smiling grandly as she kisses Lucius openmouthed like she could do it all day and how Lucius looks at her, like the word “love” just isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

Sirius discovers that he’s happy for the newlywed couple. Their first dance is slow and romantic, with Narcissa embracing her husband while they take unhurried but steady steps across the dance floor. Sirius wonders if he’ll get married one day, and if he’ll rehearse dance steps with his wife to perform in front of the Black family, and another pureblood family, and all of the family friends in the world. No muggles at all. Somehow, he just can’t see it happening.

However, he can see himself flirting his way through the reception and does just that. Him and Regulus have been seated at a table with other kids their ages, and while Regulus mumbles quietly to scrawny Barty Crouch Jr., Sirius chats up every girl at the table. Theodora Rowle is sat on his left. She’s a year younger than him and has white blonde hair, sort of like Narcissa’s, but eyes that glint with a familiar sort of mischief. Sirius tells her stories of the pranks he’s pulled- poisoning people with leaves from the Hyena tree, exploding the toilets in the Ravenclaw dormitories, sneaking through secret passageways (and no, she can’t know where they are).

Beside her is Georgina Bulstrode, who has a distinctly monkeyish face. She’s older than Sirius but flushes red when he compliments her dress and engages his simpering conversation. On his right sits Celina Burke. She has short black hair and a personality to match- uptight, tense, and strict. It takes longer to get her in an easier sort of mood, but Sirius’s humor and charm wins her over and before long, he’s got all of them, plus more, engaged in conversation. He’s plainly enjoying himself and is almost sad when Walburga floats by and drags him away to congratulate Narcissa.

She’s been sitting up at the head table, eating cake, drinking champagne, and staring into Lucius’s eyes. Her parents, Cygnus and Druella, sit by their side. Lucius’s father had died five years prior but his mother is present, a tired eyed but proud looking woman with a stern face that matches her son’s. Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Ignatius are there, and even Grandfather Pollux is in the crowd of family. Sirius has always been terrified of him. Bellatrix and her husband, or fiancee (Sirius isn’t clear, their relationship is kept quite private) Rodolphus are standing close to Narcissa, having passed on their well wishes. 

Sirius and Regulus are among the last to make it through the crowd of Blacks, and the much smaller crowd of immediate Malfoys. Regulus has always been closer to Narcissa and talks to her a while. Sirius looks at the fond look on his cousin’s face and wishes he could have been there for Andromeda’s wedding, being able to talk to her and tell her how happy she was and seeing a genuine smile on her face. Narcissa doesn’t look quite as happy when Sirius tells her the same. In fact, she pulls him away from the crowd with a lie and a smile, and takes a walk with him across the grounds, holding up her dress so as not to step on it.

“Want me to carry your train?” Sirius jokes as they leave the festivities behind.

“No, Sirius.” Narcissa replies in the placating voice of an older cousin talking to a younger one. She’d always been the one to keep order when they were small, keeping Bellatrix and Sirius from fighting with each other and making Regulus feel better when he was left out. Andromeda had always been on her own, doing something by herself that she was content with doing alone. Sirius had been jealous that she hadn’t been forced into playing with them as kids. He misses her badly. 

“I know you wish Andromeda was here,” Narcissa continues, holding Sirius’s attention, “and I do too.” She sighs and Sirius focuses on her, taking in the strands of blonde hair lining her face and the pink lipstick smudged over her mouth. “She sent me a letter, asking about the wedding, and about you too. She’s had her baby, you know, and she’d like it if you visited.”

“She  _ had  _ the baby?!” Sirius gasps, not intending on raising his voice to this extent. “And no one  _ told  _ me?”

“Andie told you herself, didn’t she write you at school?” Narcissa replies, now a little haughty. “You could’ve done the maths, added up nine months.” 

“Well, I wasn’t counting the months, I’m not the one pregnant. Mum’s been burning up every letter that she’s sent to me! Have you seen her? Them?” Narcissa looks worried at the anecdote about Walburga, but continues anyway.

“I did. The baby, Nymphadora, she’s a metamorphmagus. Had bright pink hair when I saw her.” Narcissa smiles at the memory. “If you want to visit her, I’d be happy to cover for you, okay? You deserve to see them.” Sirius looks at her earnestly, with all joking aside.

“Thank you, Cissy.” She nods.

A week later, Sirius arrives in the Tonks’s fireplace coughing up ash.

“Oh christ, sorry Sirius, the fireplace is a bit dirty, we haven’t had much company these days.” Ted Tonks is brushing Sirius off apologetically in the living room of their small house in Norwich. Andromeda had been quick to run away with Ted, claiming boldly that she would follow him anywhere, and they’ve picked quite a nice place to raise their baby. 

Andromeda greets Sirius with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, her chestnut brown eyes full of warmth. The baby’s hair is green today, and she babbles loudly when Andromeda wraps her in a blanket and gives her to Sirius to hold.

“Where’d you think of the name?” He asks them as he sits on the couch, Nymphadora a bundle of warmth in his arms.

“Well, I wanted to call her Kimberly. Could’ve called her Kim, cute, don’t you think?” Ted asks and Sirius nods with a wry smile. “But Andie here-”

“Come off it, I wanted to call her something special. Nymphs are beautiful creatures, and so is she!”

“Except when she’s crying at two in the morning or needs her nappy changed.”

“You still love her!” Sirius is elated to be back in a normal household, with friendly and loud Ted Tonks and his beloved cousin, who looks as tired as a newborn mother is expected to be, but lovely. In love. They put Dora in a baby carriage and leave the tidy little house that sits at the end of a dead end street to go for a walk around the neighborhood. Andromeda asks about the wedding with no ill will and Sirius tells her it wasn’t anything particularly special, nothing that she had seriously missed out on. Still, it was her sister’s wedding. They leave the topic behind when Ted changes the subject to Hogwarts. He had been sorted into Hufflepuff, no surprise there, and chats with Sirius about professors, Quidditch, and his friends. 

The neighborhood is quaint and lovely, made up of almost all red brick buildings with a few shops on a high street that turns into the highway leading downtown. Ted starts talking about his car and Sirius listens with keen interest, finding himself fascinated by muggle technology. 

Sirius helps Andromeda cook dinner and the three of them eat together while Nymphadora plays with the magical mobile hanging over her crib. There are little animals hanging down and they make noises and move when she bats at them- a duckling quack and shuffles its wings, a little cow moos and moves its legs back and forth. They all drink wine and laugh and talk into the evening while Sirius dreams of living a life like this one. Wonders if he ever will.

**l**

“Eugh, Lily! There’s another owl- oh! Oh, no! _ LILY!  _ Lily, come right now! Lily! Lil-”

“ _ What _ ?!” Lily pants, out of breath and standing in the kitchen, her nightgown astray, hair a mess, a smudge of toothpaste still at the corner of her mouth. She had been brushing her teeth sleepily in the bathroom when her sister’s shrieks had roused her enough to come running down the stairs to find Petunia pointing at an unconscious brown owl on the tiled floor. “It’s an owl, Petunia, they’re birds! Fly in the sky sometime, I’m sure you’ve seen a few?” Petunia’s thin face twists nastily.

“This one’s passed out on the floor of our house.”

“Poor thing,” Lily mumbles, ignoring her sister as she kneels next to the owl on the floor. “It looks exhausted.” 

“It looks more than that.” Petunia adds, nudging it with her foot. The owl lets out a low hoot and shakes its leg, to which a letter is attached. Lily isn’t sure if she should feed it, and what she should give it. What do owls eat? Insects, mice? There’s none of those laying around the Evans household. Lily gently unties the letter from the owl’s leg, watching as the bird finally rights itself, giving her a sleepy look.

She unties the note and sighs when she reads the letter from Remus. 

“Who’s that from?” Petunia asks with a strong curiosity in her voice.

“My friend Remus.” Lily responds simply, folding up the note. She looks down at the owl on the floor and feels a sense of relief as it flutters back up to the windowsill before lazily flying off to a tree outside. It’s a bright August morning and Lily assumes her parents have gone to the local produce market in the neighboring village. 

“Ooh, a boy.” Petunia says with a conspiratorial look, adding a wink to make it all the worse. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, Tuney, he fancies Marlene.” Both Marlene and Mary had visited Lily earlier in the summer to Lily’s delight and Petunia’s horror. Marlene, a pureblood, had been fascinated by all the “inventions” in Lily’s house, and Mary’s very loud and brash, too much of a city girl to get on well with posh Petunia. “He’s just a friend. Speaking of, I’m going out with Sev today, so I won’t be around.”

“I thought you wanted to bike out to the river!” Petunia exclaims, looking hurt. 

“We can do that tomorrow! We’ve got all summer.”

“And you’ve got all school year to be with Sev!” Lily shoots her twin sister a frustrated look. She’s glad that she doesn’t look anything like Petunia, with her pinched face, mousy brown hair, and too-long nose. They have the same eyes though. Almond shaped with a warm green tone. 

“It’s not the same.” Lily says simply, not knowing how else to describe it. “I promise I’ll go with you tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to get dressed.” Petunia doesn’t respond as her sister wanders back up the stairs. Lily paws through her closet to find something nice to wear, although she knows Severus will be wearing his usual drab threadbare clothes.

She settles on a white and pink dotted skirt and a red collared shirt. Looking at herself in the mirror, she decides to add a white headband to pull back her dark ginger hair. Lily’s face is awash with tan freckles from the summer sun, and she gives herself a smile in the mirror. She’s not due to meet Sev until noon, and still has some time before leaving to meet him.

So she reads Remus’s letter in the privacy of her own bedroom, smiling as he describes his summer to her. Remus is the only boy who writes Lily letters during holidays. Potter and Black aren’t as close to her, she sort of considers them friends but genuinely finds Remus to be someone she doesn’t mind spending time with outside of meals and lessons. He’s kind and funny, and describes to her how he’s working at a garden centre, how he bought a bike and sometimes walks his dog at the same time as riding, how she would hate to know that his mates have taken up smoking (as has he), but he’ll stop by the time school starts. 

She thinks of Remus in the Welsh summer, riding a bike and walking his dog and smoking fags. His stories from the summer seem so different from how he acts at Hogwarts- quiet and more reserved. She thinks of the influence that Potter and Black must have on him, making him feel like a smaller person than he is. A shame. 

Petunia is sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading a book when Lily returns downstairs. 

“Any plans for the day?” Lily asks casually, hating the nasty look on her sister’s face as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“Had some, but then you decided you had something better to do.” 

“Come off it, Tuney, we’ll go tomorrow! Where’s your friend Amy, then?”

“Holidays. You shouldn’t have asked if I had any plans if you knew I had none anymore!”

“I was just asking! I didn’t know if you had any friends around!” 

“Don’t bother next time, then!”

“I certainly won’t!” Lily shouts in a huff of frustration, leaving before Petunia can continue their argument. They had used to be friends, when they were younger. Twins, inseparable, joined at the hip. And now Petunia is jealous and bitter, anything but the dependable sister from childhood. Lily misses her. Lily wonders if she’ll ever win her back. 


	29. [YR 3] Hold the Nail & Drive It In

_ i’m afraid that they will change you, but if that’s what you want then i guess i want it too  _

**m**

When Marlene boards the Hogwarts Express in September of 1973, she isn’t sure what to expect. Mary is unchanging, that’s enough. Her brown skin glows in the warm light of Platform 9 and ¾ , and she envelops Marlene in a warm hug that smells like patented Mary MacDonald- a mixture of old leather, fresh laundry, and the zesty perfume she always wears. There’s swinging gold earrings through her earlobes, and a new gold stud in the cartilage of her ear.

“Ooh, is that new?” Marlene asks, reaching up to flutter her fingers around the piercing.

“Yes, but don’t touch it, I just got it done! Mum let me get it for my birthday, bless her. Says she’ll let me get something on the other ear for Christmas, and maybe next year I’ll get my nose pierced.” 

“Oh wow! That would be so cool!” They board the train all while Mary chatters away, talking about her summer, complaining about her older sister Martha, telling Marlene about her birthday, which had taken place in late August. She looks very pretty in an orange overall dress with a white buttoned shirt underneath. When Lily Evans arrives, she’s wearing something similarly fashionable- a very high waisted pink skirt with strawberries printed on it and a peachy colored shirt that brings out the color of her hair. Marlene doesn’t like dresses or skirts so much, and is wearing plain jeans and a black and white Montrose Magpies jerseys- a hand-me-down from her brother Frazer. 

The girls get a carriage together and people-watch out the window, pointing out people on the platform. They watch with keen interest when the Black family arrives and Mary narrates the view of Sirius bickering with his mum, which gets all of them laughing to the point of tears. More laughter is sure to come when Dorcas Meadowes dramatically throws open the door to their carriage.

“Hello, ladies!”

“Dorcas!” Mary shouts, enveloping her friend in a hug similar to the one she had given Marlene on the platform. Dorcas is beautiful. She has dark Greek features and winks a brown eye at Marlene when giving her a hug. It isn’t long after Dorcas’s arrival that discussion turns to boys, and Marlene watches wistfully out the window as they leave London behind.

“Lupin hasn’t come by, then?” Dorcas asks Marlene, who shakes her head.

“I didn’t see him on the platform last year, either. He’s always late.” 

“He’ll turn up.” Mary comforts, and her words ring true when Marlene almost immediately sees the familiar face of Remus in the corridor outside. He swings the door open and Mary cheers- “Here he is! We were just talking about you!”

“Oh were you?” Remus asks, easily returning Mary’s hug and then moving over to Marlene. 

“Only good things.” Lily assures him as he sits down next to Marlene, giving her a sideways hug that fills her with warmth. She feels at home around Remus, and had written back and forth with him constantly over the summer. He has a distinct smell too, like cinnamon and cigarette smoke, and she leans against his shoulder as he smiles down at her. 

“Not going to find Potter and Black?” Marlene asks tentatively, unable to look away from his amber eyes that meet hers steadily.

“They can wait,” he replies softly before giving her a quick kiss. The girls don’t make a big deal of it, in fact, they’ve gone back to their own conversation about how absolutely  _ lush  _ Kingsley Shacklebolt is. Dorcas had developed a fancy for him in the spring, and it doesn’t seem to have gone away. 

“You look tan.” She comments, giving him a good look up and down.

“What it is, see, is what I get from working outside, like. I’ll lose it fast, don’t worry.” His lilting Welsh accent is back with a vengeance, and Marlene loves it. 

“I like it! And the freckles, too!” Remus always looks better after the summer, his skin having a warmer tone, his face sunkissed and freckled, lines around his eyes when he smiles, like he does it all the time. He had returned from summer holidays last year incredibly confident and brash, almost at equal par with Potter and Black, but had faded back into regular old Remus during the school year. This year seems much the same. Instead of lapsing into a comfortable silence like they usually do, Remus chats up a storm for a good hour, until James Potter stalks down the hallway to find him.

“Moony!” Potter’s boisterous voice interrupts the discussion of everyone in the carriage, and they all turn to see the dark skinned boy standing in the door to their carriage. James Potter himself looks very fit and he directs a very flirtatious smile towards Lily, who just frowns at him. “Why’re you sitting with the girls, mate? We thought you’d missed the train!”

“Just wanted to catch up with Marlene,” Remus responds evenly, though he’s standing up. Marlene holds his hand and he squeezes it, giving her a look that warms her from head to toe. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Marlene responds in almost a whisper, watching as Remus moves through the car to where James is. 

“Enjoy the ride, ladies! You especially, Evans.” James says with a dazzling grin and a wink at Lily as his means of goodbye, and slaps Remus on the back before dragging him down the corridor and out of sight. 

“Merlin’s beard, Potter is obsessed with you!” Dorcas says to Lily, who looks distinctly cool. 

“He’s a big headed bully.” She replies. Marlene harbors no attraction to Potter, but if he had paid her that sort of attention, she’s sure she would have blushed a scarlet shade to match Lily’s hair. 

“He’s going to ask you to Hogsmeade, I’m sure of it, and if I were you, I’d say yes.” Mary advises seriously.

“I’m not going to go with him!” Lily protests. “If someone wants to ask me on a date, I’ll go with someone kind. Not like Potter. And besides, me and Sev are going to the first Hogsmeade weekend together.” Mary rolls her eyes. 

“Good old Sev.” 

“Good old Sev.” Lily echoes with a stronger tone in her voice, letting the rest of them know that she’s not in the mood for them all to rag on Snape. Marlene doesn’t bother anyways, and is relieved when Dorcas turns the conversation back to boys. They’re easy enough to talk about, and Marlene wishes that Remus was still sitting by her side. He makes her feel calm and confident. He makes her feel her best. 

“This should be our year, don’t you think? In terms of finally dating.” Dorcas asks, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger. “Marlene’s got her Lupin” (at this, Marlene flushes at the idea of Remus being  _ hers) _ “Mary, Black is all eyes for you,” (Lily interjects after this, mentioning their kiss on Sirius’s birthday last year), “Lily- you can have any boy you want, and, well, I’ve got Shacklebolt to woo.” 

“Got it all worked out, have you?” Mary jokes, but she’s clearly thinking about Dorcas’s pairings for them all. Marlene’s pleased enough with this arrangement, because when she really thinks about it, she’s fine with Remus. Their relationship isn’t anything spectacular and she likes it that way. She just likes being around him, and that’s enough. The affection is nice too- holding hands and hugging, kissing and cuddling up together, but never anything farther, and she’s glad for that. 

Mary’s told stories of her summer and the wonders that come from living in muggle London as a thirteen year old, the adventures with boys and kissing them, touching them, having them feel her up- it all makes Marlene feel uncomfortable and sort of scared. She doesn’t think that she’d ever like Remus to touch her like that. And never have sex, not ever. The concept is terrifying to her. She’ll keep things the way they are, thank you very much. Marlene is happy for everything to stay the same.

**s**

Sirius starts off the week with two ties, four pairs of underpants, three white school shirts, two pairs of uniform trousers, and three sets of robes. He hardly wears the itchy grey jumpers and has served plenty of detentions for poor uniform, but has grown used to them. The jumpers just don’t suit him. 

He wears his abridged uniform to breakfast on the first day (he usually misses breakfast when he can help it, but has now made it an effort to come down on the first day), where everyone’s schedules are feverishly compared. Sirius is taking Muggle Studies and Divination, which has James roaring with laughter. 

“Leave it to you to take the easiest electives ever!” 

“You’re taking the piss!” Mary comments loudly, snatching his timetable. “Muggle Studies? Sirius Black?”

“Potter’s taking it too!” Sirius defends, grabbing back his schedule. “What are yours, anyways?”

“Luckily,” Mary responds loudly, tossing her hair back, “I’m smart enough to not need to study muggles. Got a whole family full of them!” Her brown eyes flash with laughter and Sirius smiles back at her without thinking. “I’m taking Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Arithmancy. It should be fun to compare Arithmancy and Divination, don’t you think?”

“Divination’s going to be lush.” Remus puts in from his seat at the end of the bench, next to Marlene. “It’s absolute crap, the whole class is just making things up, like.” Remus, Mary, Marlene, and Lily are all taking three electives, and all four of them had mentioned thinking about taking four. 

“Is that even possible?” James asks dramatically. “Being even  _ nerdier  _ than you already are?” 

“You’re just jealous of my massive brain that stores loads and loads of knowledge,” Remus responds in a way that he wouldn’t usually, like he’s continuing a joke. “And anyways, I’ve been rather interested in Arithmancy anyways, do you think I should sign up?” Lily catches on to the joke and is the first to reply to him.

“Yeah, I think you should. Oh, McGonagall’s up there now- you should go ask her!”

“Great idea!” Remus replies, obviously spirited. “I think I’ll sign up for Muggle Studies while I’m at it, unless I’m exempt, due to my immense stores of knowledge, of course. Still, five electives sounds like a laugh! Come on, Marlene, let’s go get smart.” And with that, he and Marlene depart the table, not heading towards McGonagall and instead striding out of the hall in a flashy show of humor that Sirius is completely not used to from his friend. 

“Blimey.” James says out loud after he leaves. “The muggles have really gotten to him.” 

“I think he’s quite fun.” Mary comments loudly. “Well, anyways, I suppose I should be getting to class. Care to join, Pettigrew?” She offers her arm to Peter, who smiles widely at her as he links his own with hers. The pair of them follow in the footsteps of Marlene and Remus as they leave for Care of Magical Creatures.

Sirius finds the new schedule freeing and wonderful. He takes no electives in the mornings and wonders how the schedule had worked itself out that way, and just assumes it’s his own good luck. This means he can sleep in every morning until 10:30 on every day except Fridays thanks to McGonagall scheduling her blasted lessons to take up a double period on Friday mornings. All of this is good and fine until on Friday morning, Sirius opens up his drawer to find both of his ties missing. The previous day, he had only had one tie, and just assumed he had misplaced the other one, which is a completely reasonable thing to happen. But today, he’s sure that he had at  _ least  _ one. Half of his underwear seems to be missing, too, and one of his shirts is gone. 

Weird.

He puts on the uniform and frowns at himself in the mirror. Sirius usually wears his tie loose around his neck but he  _ wears  _ it, at least, and his uniform looks very stark without it. So he puts on one of the scratchy jumpers and wrinkles his nose at his reflection. The jumper makes him look very lumpy. Sirius is in no way a proponent of layers, and tugs uncomfortably at the jumper as he goes down to class, hoping that the lack of lie is made up for with the new addition of the jumper. 

All of this is fine and well, and Sirius wears t-shirts and his grey muggle trousers through the weekend. Unfortunately, on Monday morning, he wakes up to find his drawer looking very barren. Suspiciously barren. All of his shirts are gone, all of his underwear is gone, and all of his jumpers have been taken. Bloody hell. Sirius doesn’t think twice before crossing the room to open up Remus’s own drawer, finding his friend’s clothes stuffed into his overflowing drawer. If Sirius tried to take James’s clothes, he’s sure that his friend would take instant notice due to the pristine conditions he keeps all of his things in. Remus is such an untidy disaster when it comes to his belongings that Sirius isn’t at all worried about borrowing some of his clothes.

Sirius pulls on one of Remus’s wrinkled shirts and does up his tie. The underwear is a bit of a problem, but Sirius at least has the pair that he slept in, which is a relief. But as Sirius shuffles through Remus’s things without a second thought, he catches a glimpse of something fascinating. It’s a battered old package a few inches long and when Sirius pulls it out, he reads the words “WILD WOODBINES CIGARETTES.”  _ Fags.  _ Remus has fags! Sirius forgets about the mystery of his missing clothes as he strides into Defense Against the Dark Arts looking rather rumpled, and takes his seat next to James, who gives him a curious once over. 

Sirius had been planning on confronting him about the missing clothes, but their teacher starts class before he can. Their teacher this year can only best be described as a hippie. Her name is Professor Pollock and she wears flowy tie dye sort of robes. She has long ginger hair and wears a soft headband made of twigs and flowers like a sort of crown around her hair. To top it all off, there’s a big necklace with a peace sign that dangles from her neck.

She’s a pacifist, apparently, and is very much interested in teaching them defensive spells. Key word being defensive. It’s more of a healing class than anything, but at least they’re learning. Today, they’re taught about healing charms while Sirius mutters that Flitwick is hired to do the same things and James half nods as he takes down neat notes in his tidy handwriting. Blasted perfect James Potter.

Sirius is happy enough when class is over so he can run up behind Remus and clamp down his hands on the boy’s shoulders, grinning broadly as Remus hisses in surprise and turns around with a familiar aggravated expression on his face.

“Moony, is it true that you’ve been smoking fags without inviting me?” Remus’s face instantly turns red and Marlene, standing close to him, gives him a quizzical look. 

“Erm.” He says, looking from Sirius to Marlene as the hallway fills with a rush of people going to classes. “I’ll see you later, okay Mar?”

“Sure.” Marlene says, taking the hint and still looking a bit confused as she waves goodbye to Remus, who drags Sirius back up to the Gryffindor tower at a very rapid pace. 

“Why are you so angry? Don’t want Marlene knowing about your filthy habit?” Sirius asks as Remus pulls him through the halls. His friend’s face is stony and hard as he storms up the stairs to the tower and spits the password before hauling Sirius inside. “It’s the moon, is it? Poor Moony, you get too angry too easily.”

“It’s because you’ve been going through my things!” Remus shouts once they’re alone in the common room. It’s a nice warm day and the common room is full of light. Remus’s eyes are golden in the light and his face is drawn up in a familiar expression of anger. “And,” he splutters, caught off guard, “is that my  _ shirt _ ? Are you wearing my clothes!?” He demands, pulling at Sirius’s tie, who pulls back.

“Hey, someone’s been stealing my clothes! I needed something to wear!”

“So you thought it best to take  _ my _ things? James wouldn’t have minded!”

“I’m not so sure about that!” 

“You could borrow my clothes if… wait, someone’s been stealing them?” Remus seems to finally have heard Sirius’s first sentence. “Who the hell is stealing your clothes?” 

“That’s what I’m wondering!” Sirius exclaims, looking at the perplexed expression on Remus’s face. “I’m not trying to be nosy, I just borrowed a shirt and tie. And I saw the fags, then. You look like you could use one.” He adds, taking note of Remus’s peaky expression, the way he gets around the full moon. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Remus comments in a gruff voice, but he’s losing the anger and there’s more good humor in his expression. “Absolutely bloody ridiculous.” 

**r**

Sirius gets nauseous the first time he smokes and bunks off class to lie on Remus’s bed and talk to him. On Saturday, Sirius smokes half of Remus’s cig in the morning. On Sunday evening after dinner, Sirius sits next to Remus on the shore of the lake and begs a fag. Remus has trouble saying no and gives him one. They smoke side by side as the sun sets low over the Black Lake, lighting up the water violet and orange. 

Remus’s long brown hair catches the last golden rays of sunlight and his handsome face is awash in a cloud of smoke as he blows it out. Sirius isn’t nearly as graceful with a cigarette, and Remus isn’t keen on seeing him learn to be. He’s got two smokes left and is saving them for Wednesday, when he’s planning on using the last of his nicotine to calm him down before the full moon.

On Tuesday morning, James is the only one with class, but Peter still goes down to have breakfast with him. Remus has a nasty headache and lays in bed, awake. His first class of the day is Herbology at eleven, and he’s got no appetite for the nausea that the migraine brings. Oblivious and needy Sirius Black pulls back the curtains on Remus’s bed, letting colossal amounts of sunlight into his four poster.

“Fucking hell, Sirius, close the bloody curtains!” Remus howls, turning in his bed and plunging his face into the pillow.

“You’re a werewolf, not a vampire! Come on, it's half ten, why aren’t you up?” Sirius asks, tugging at Remus’s arm.

“I’m ill, leave me alone.” Remus groans into his pillow, feeling distinctly childlike.

“I can get something from Pomfrey, if you’d like.” Sirius offers. Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Remus rolls over and instructs him to get a headache draught from the matron. Sirius says he’ll do it for a cigarette, and Remus could hit him.

“I’ve only got two left and I’m saving them for tomorrow,” he pleads. “You’ve got no reason to smoke them.”

“Makes me look cool.” Sirius’s reply earns a scathing look from Remus, and he grins with that typical good natured look on his face. He lifts up his hands and backs away, still smiling. “Alright, alright, I’ll get it for you. Give me a mo’.”

“Thank you!” Remus calls out as Sirius leaves, getting a friendly wave from the boy as he leaves downstairs. Remus slowly gets dressed, having more energy at the thought of having his headache cured soon. Still, his illness around the full moons seems to be getting worse and worse as he grows older. The headaches, nausea, and defensive anger start up in the week before the moon, and afterwards, he’s left in a depressed state of achy pain. It’s awful, really. He bears it well enough, though. Remus has never been one to whinge.

Sirius returns with a vial of a clear pink liquid that Remus recognizes. He downs it, makes a face at the taste, and sighs with the relief of a cool feeling dampening the headache behind his eyes. He spends Tuesday craving a smoke and most of Wednesday feeling ill enough to die. They have double Potions after lunch on Wednesday and Remus makes it through half the lesson before feeling fit to be sick. He asks Slughorn to leave with a green face and the professor is happy enough to let him escape the hot dungeons to barely reach the bathrooms in time to throw up.

When night comes, it’s no better. 

Remus spends his last moments as a human sitting cross legged on the lumpy bed of the Shrieking Shack, head tilted back as he looks around the beat up room in a fleeting moment of peace. He finishes the fag, feeling oddly calm, and stretches widely before taking off his clothes. There’s not much else to do so he folds up his clothes at the foot of the bed. Then the transformation comes. 


	30. [YR 3] Float Among the Wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for gore/body horror during remus’s chap
> 
> lyrics from “viva indifference” by frank iero and the patience

_imagine you and me if we made it through the bullshit_

_we’d probably get so bored it’d make us cry_

_we’ve heard of peace but i hope we never find it_

_it’ll make us care, but i don’t care_

**r**

Remus Lupin sits bandaged and miserable in his bed in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey tells him things he doesn’t want to hear.

“They’re only going to get worse, Remus.” She says softly, looking at him with that familiar expression of distanced pity. “With puberty and then adulthood, the transformations… well, they just get more painful. I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve been doing research, and I’m sure you have too, but I’m just not sure what to do…”

She’s pulled up a chair next to his bed as he sits in the late morning light and drinks a cup of tea. “I was thinking of trying a more long lasting draught,” she continues, “so you can take it a few days before the moon to help with some of the symptoms, but past that, there’s not so much I can do.” 

“That’s okay.” Remus says slowly. His throat is sore and his voice comes out hoarse and rough. His voice has broken sooner than any of his friends, and he assumes that the flood of hormones in his body has only made the transformations worse. “That’s okay,” he repeats after clearing his throat, “I’m okay.” But he’s not. His face is more or less intact save for a nasty toothache from the pain of his teeth shifting back from canine to human. His forearms had been cut up and bruised from beating them against the splintered walls of the shack, and his hip aches from twisting it in a menacing way. 

The rest of the marauders come visit after classes end. Good old Peter had stayed awake to take notes for him during History of Magic. Remus is dead exhausted and Sirius, bless him, seems to take note of this, and gets them to clear out after an hour. It’s like the first time he had visited and come to understand without words that Remus needed to be left alone. His sleep is fitful though, and he’s subject to a series of nightmares that involve him killing his friends. 

The dream sequence is the worst thing he’s ever seen. And experienced, really. It’s horribly tactile. At first, Sirius is lying next to him in bed, like he does sometimes when he can’t sleep. His back is to Sirius’s chest and Remus lies close to him, warm and safe. Sirius turns and Remus sees his pale face illuminated by moonlight. Remus leans close to him as though he’s about to kiss him ( _why?_ ), and then the moon lights up the bed and Remus is anything but himself. 

He’s a wolf. He’s an _it._ The wolf’s teeth meet Sirius’s neck and the fangs sink in, tasting iron and blood and then the wolf bites and pulls, breaking the skin on Sirius’s neck and tearing his throat out in anything but a smooth motion. Sirius screams and blood bubbles out of his mouth, his mismatched words turning into gurgles as the wolf leans in and takes another messy bite out of his throat, chewing through stringy skin and wet, runny blood, oh _god_ \- 

The scene changes and Remus is playing chess with Peter. Nighttime. The moon twinkles outside and a fire crackles in the common room as Peter frowns at the chess set, carefully thinking out his next move. He’s about to instruct a bishop to move before a beam of moonlight breaks through the window and Remus changes into the wolf in a jarring, grisly motion. The wolf lunges across the table and tears its claws down Peter’s face, mauling him. Peter’s eyeballs dangle loosely from their bloody sockets and his teeth fall onto the stained chess set as he screams and screams; his cheeks pulled back to reveal yellow fat lining the skin and dark red muscle underneath, blood everywhere-

The scene changes once more and Remus is his human self again, sitting in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Sun has set. James finishes a loop in the air and Remus watches him land, getting up to talk with him. The soft ground of the pitch feels alien under Remus’s feet, and he watches James’s smiling face walk up to him, tousling his sweaty black hair and fixing his glasses and then, without much warning, Remus transforms. 

James is the only one to fight back. The wolf leaps at him and James takes a wild swing with the handle of his broomstick, barely bruising the wolf’s muzzle. The monster is infuriated and its eyes glow a golden red as it pounces on James, sinking its sharp teeth into his leg and tearing, wanting revenge. James screams- an awful sound that Remus has never heard before and he’s scared, god he’s so scared, he’s begging the creature to stop but the wolf doesn’t hear him. 

The wolf continues, biting deep into the skin of James’s leg, the leg of his trousers absolutely drenched with crimson blood and James sobs without restraint, screaming and crying and screaming and crying and Remus wakes up screaming and crying, thrashing in his sheets, drenched in sweat and shaking all over. He grabs at the bedsheets and looks around with wild eyes, seeing Madam Pomfrey bending over him, trying to pacify him, and he’s immediately worried that she’s his next victim.

But he’s awake. He’s okay. Remus pants heavily as the matron speaks to him in a low, calm voice that eventually brings him back to reality. 

“It’s just a dream.” She says, repeating it over and over. “Just a dream.”

She gives Remus a potion for dreamless sleep after talking to him for a few minutes, convincing him that everyone is okay. He wakes up again in the early afternoon and is surprised to see Sirius sitting at his bedside looking uncharacteristically worried. His blue eyes brighten when he sees Remus stir.

“Moony! You’re awake, how are you?”

“Shh,” Remus instructs, waving a hand at him. There’s a glass of water on the table next to him, along with a few chocolate frogs, and his latest endeavor into American literature: Little Women. Lily had lent it to him and he had only read it in private, terrified that one of the marauders would find him and never let him hear the end of reading such a _girly_ book. He wonders if Lily had dropped it off while he was sleeping. Remus takes a long drink from the glass and then pushes himself into a better seated position. 

“Can I talk now?” Sirius whispers, and Remus smiles before nodding. “We missed you in Transfiguration, you know. Turning cats into cauldrons, it was rather fun.”

“Sorry to have missed it.” Remus responds, having trouble looking his friend in the eyes. The dream still feels real and heavy around him. 

“You missed Divination, too, but so have I.” Remus’s questioning look prompts him to continue. “I bunked off, wanted to see if you were okay. Pomfrey said you had a rough night.”

“Just some bad dreams.” Remus mumbles dismissively and in a rather unconvincing way. 

“What about?” Remus shrugs, breaking eye contact completely. 

“Did you bring this all chocolate, like?” He asks as a means to change the subject, picking up one of the frogs and unwrapping it.

“Yeah, me and Pete. I saw that book by your bed, thought you might want it.” Sirius doesn’t comment on the potential subject matter and Remus is glad that he’s not in a totally joking mood. “The moon was bad?” Remus nods, biting the head off of the frog and feeling the chocolate melt in his mouth. Food always serves well as a way to make him feel better. Food, books, music, and Sirius Black. Recipe for a good mood. 

“They’re only going to get worse.” Remus explains quietly. “As I get older, the transformations will be more and more…. bad.” There’s so many words he could have chosen, “unbearable” being the most accurate one, but Sirius quietly and solemnly seems to understand the weight that “bad” holds. It’s enough. 

Sirius brings Remus some food from the kitchens and they eat a late afternoon meal before Sirius accompanies his friend to the library. Remus wants to make sense of Peter’s dismal history notes, but Sirius is of no help and talks far too much for Remus’s liking. He can’t go more than five minutes without piping up again, and Remus feels bad but glad at the same time when he breaks Sirius free from his care and tells him that he can go have dinner in the courtyard with the rest of their friends.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be all lonely, locked away up here in this dust-chamber.” 

“Sirius, it’s a library, for god’s sakes. It’s not so bad. I’m fine here, and I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay…” But Sirius obviously doesn’t want to stay, and pats Remus on the head before taking his leave. Finally. Remus turns back to the notes that he’s making about Emeric the Evil when he hears an unfamiliar voice speak his name.

“...Remus?” He sighs heavily and looks up to see none other than Jasmine Pettigrew standing at the other end of the table. Her face is blazing bright red with a blush, and the two girls on either side of her seem to be just as starry eyed.

“Hiya Jasmine, what’s up?” Jasmine’s face goes nearly purple.

“Er, well, I just ran into Sirius, your friend, and he said you were here working on history, and we’ve also... been working on history, but we’ve sort of been having some trouble. Erm. Can you help?” Remus hesitates only momentarily, taking in the look of desperation on the faces of her friends. 

“Sure, yeah, alright. Sit down, then.” Remus clears his notes out of the way as the trio of girls sit down at the table with him. “What’s your names then?” He asks Jasmine’s friends. 

“I’m Julie Blackstone.” Julie has bright ginger hair, horn rimmed glasses, and a nasty case of acne. “And that’s Aileen,” she continues, pointing across the table at a small girl with short blonde hair.

“Oh, Aileen Asche?” Remus asks her, feeling some vague familiarity. She nods quickly, looking rather embarrassed. “I knew your brother, like. Archie. He helped me and my mates, he did, first year. How is he?” 

“Good!” Aileen squeaks. “Good, he’s working with the Ministry, actually. Training to be an Auror.”

“Oh, great! Good for him. Cool. Well, anyways, what is it you needed help with?”

“The Werewolf Code of Conduct, Binns listed all the responsibilities but I didn’t write them down.” Julie says miserably. Remus could laugh at the irony of it all.

“Oh, that’s a breeze. I know that like the back of my hand.”

**s**

Sirius Black doesn’t like confronting people. Unless ‘people’ is Severus Snape.

But when it comes to something serious that he has to discuss with his friends, he’d much rather joke along and pretend to let the whole situation dissolve into something funny rather than funereal. But when it comes to the case of the stolen clothes, he finds himself unable to corner James or Remus or Peter about who the culprit is behind the prank. Yes, Sirius can attest that it is sort of funny that he’s been wearing a very odd mismatched uniform for the past week, but it’s becoming sort of frustrating at this point. 

So, on one Monday morning, Sirius gives up. The thief had left him with some interesting options this morning: one pair of trousers. Every uniform shirt, jumper, and tie are gone. Sirius could just wear the t-shirt he slept in, he knows, but there’s another item of muggle clothing he owns that he doesn’t get a chance to wear very often. 

This is what leads to Sirius taking his friends’ prank too far. 

Sirius doesn’t find it too far, mind you. He’s someone gifted with a rare sort of confidence that good looking teenage boys exhibit in order to attract attention, and he strides through the halls on the way to class with a brash smile on his face. He’s late to class, as usual, and attracts the attention of everyone in the room when he loudly bursts into Defense Against the Dark Arts class, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

They have class with the Hufflepuffs and it’s only right that Dorcas Meadowes is the first to comment- 

“Oh christ, he’s gone mad.” Sirius hasn’t gone mad, he’s just taken a more liberal stance on fashion today. He’s wearing the shirt that he had bought in muggle London last summer with Mary. It’s a marbled green and blue shirt with too-wide sleeves, a high and exaggerated collar, and a v-neck cut so low that half of his chest is visible. James is wheezing into his fist, trying to contain his laughter, but the rest of the class doesn’t bother.

“Alright, settle down!” Professor Pollock calls over the class, giving Sirius an incredulous look. “Mister Black, I of all people am in full support of individuality, but this is just… this is a distraction to the class. Please return to your dormitory and change.” 

“I haven’t got any shirts.” Sirius replies, watching James fan his face as he turns and laughs into Peter’s shoulder. 

“You haven’t got any shirts?” Pollock repeats, looking him up and down.

“There’s a thief in the dorms, professor! Someone’s stolen all my uniform shirts.” Sirius explains while the class continues their laughter. 

“Mr. Black, everyone else in this classroom seems to have found their uniforms intact this morning.”

“I’m a victim.” Even Lily is laughing now, shaking her head in disbelief as Sirius faces off with their teacher. 

“And you have three people who live in your dormitory who I’m sure can lend you a shirt.” Professor Pollock scans the classroom, eyes flickering over James and Remus. 

“You can borrow one of mine, Sirius!” Peter pipes up, sending the class into another loud fit of laughter. Sirius nods warmly at the blonde haired boy, trying to keep the self satisfied smile off of his face. 

“Cheers, Pete! I’ll be right back.” He assures Pollock before striding out of the room, feeling giddy and happy to have been the center of attention. ‘Right back’ to Sirius means forty minutes later, and he finally re-enters the class just as its ending. James claps him on the shoulder on his way out the door, and Sirius moves to turn around and follow him out until he’s stopped short by the professor. Now, Sirius hadn’t necessarily been planning on getting away with the massive distraction to the class, but he also hadn’t been expecting his peace loving teacher to make much of a fuss about it. 

So he’s generally surprised when Professor Pollock calls him back into the classroom. James rolls his eyes and offers good luck before leaving Sirius behind. 

“Mr. Black, I hope you know I wouldn’t let your uniform and disruption go unpunished.” Pollock says as Sirius slowly wanders back through the classroom up to her desk. “But I have a fun idea for learning your lesson.” Her smile is oddly genuine and Sirius bites half of a smile at her, worried about what her idea of fun means. “Your younger brother Regulus has class with me after lunch, and he seems to have been struggling with deflective and freezing charms. Charms in general. I’d love it if you could stop by later today and help tutor him.”

“Oh, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Sirius blathers quickly, thinking that there would be nothing worse than having to teach Regulus. After the confrontation last year, the two of them haven’t properly made up. They grew closer again over the summer, having entire conversations but never diving into deeper topics like before. There’s still a wall up between them. They would talk about ordinary, boring things, and Sirius would wonder if he would ever get his younger brother back. “We don’t really get along.” Pollock raises her eyebrows.

“All the better to have you two work together! Sirius, this isn’t a question, this is an order.”

“I’d rather take detention.”

“I don’t believe in detention. I’ll see you at four today, okay? If you don’t come, I’ll leave you to McGonagall. I’m sure she’ll have a fitting punishment.” Sirius walks out of the room with his shoulders held much lower than before, dreading having to work with Regulus. His younger brother is stubborn and gets tetchy and angry when people try to explain basic concepts to him. When Walburga taught them maths as young kids, Regulus had been so frustrated by the concept of division that he had started crying. Sirius had made a weak attempt at drawing out long division for him and Regulus had started hitting him, screaming about how no one would get him to understand no matter what. 

Orion had sat down and calmly explained the topic to him later that night, and neither Walburga nor her eldest son had admitted their own defeat. Sirius walks into the great hall to find none of his friends inside. He snatches a sandwich from the nearest table, Ravenclaw, and heads outside into the crisp autumn sunshine. Most of the friend group is sitting out in the courtyard and Mary is the first to turn towards Sirius.

“That was a laugh in Defense, you should wear that shirt more!” 

“‘ _I’m a victim!’_ ” Dorcas imitates, getting a laugh out of everyone. Lily is the only one missing and Sirius sits down on the floor next to Mary, where her usual spot would be. 

“All thanks to Potter here, I’m assuming.” James holds his hands up in a show of admitting defeat. 

“What’s Pollock got you doing?” Marlene asks. She’s got a handful of berries wrapped in a napkin and tosses a blueberry into the air, catching it expertly in her mouth. Very cool.

“Tutoring my brother.”

“That’s her idea of a punishment?” James asks indignantly.

“You _want_ me to be punished?” Sirius laughs, throwing a bit of bread at him. James is empty handed and snatches a raspberry from Marlene’s hand, chucking it at Sirius, who catches it and then pops it into his mouth. He’s got his friends, and he’s got Muggle Studies class in an hour. No detention, not much of a punishment at all. No big deal.

**reg**

“Oh, bloody hell.”

“Language, Mr. Black!” Professor Pollock admonishes as she sweeps around the room. Regulus sighs loudly, lowering his wand in defeat. He’s standing across from his best mate Evan Rosier, who frowns at him thoughtfully. It’s their last day practicing deflective charms and Regulus has been cursed to hell and back, constantly thrown back on the floor by Evan’s strong knockback jinx. 

“Maybe it’s the wand movement?” Evan offers, trying to be helpful.

“How do you do it?”

“Try me.”

“ _Flipendo!”_ Regulus calls and Evan responds quickly with a “ _deflecto”_ , sending the spell hurtling right back at Regulus, who’s once again caught off guard and goes stumbling backwards, but doesn’t fall this time. 

“Give it another go,” Evan suggests, rumpling his brown hair. 

“It’s not going to work.”

“Give it another go!” 

“Fine!”

“ _Flipendo.”_ Evan casts the spell with the force and power of someone much older and Regulus barely holds up his wand before he’s thrown back into an unceremonious heap on the floor. Bugger. “That’s alright,” Evan says as he crosses the room, helping Regulus to his feet. 

Reg shakes him off as soon as he’s standing and looks at his friend with the fire of frustration in his eyes, of not being able to get this _right._ Why is he so awful at magic? Why can’t it come naturally, like Evan’s does? _Or Sirius’s_ , says the nasty little voice in the back of his mind, and Regulus takes a deep breath and steadies himself, wondering when he’ll get over this inane desire to be able to prove himself. 

Class ends with Regulus still finding himself unable to cast the spell properly, and he’s none the more excited when Professor Pollock calls him and a few other students back after class. They take Defense with the Ravenclaws, only a few of whom Regulus knows personally. None of his friends have been called back, though, it’s only him and a handful of other students who can’t do magic properly.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts is a tricky subject,” the professor is saying in her warbling tone that wanders up and down. She uses her hands a lot when she talks and a blonde haired Ravenclaw boy makes fun of her exaggerated movements when she isn’t looking. “But practice makes perfect, as they say! The deflecting charm is a dueling essential, and generally necessary for you to perfect. Let’s practice together, okay?” 

For fifteen minutes, Regulus focuses as hard as possible on learning the blasted spell. He’s paired up with the blonde haired Ravenclaw named Lockhart, who seems just as dismal as him. Professor Pollock demonstrates the spell again and again and just when Regulus thinks he may be getting the hang of it, someone bursts jauntily into the classroom, talking loudly in a familiar voice. Regulus goes flying across the room in a moment of distraction while Lockhart shouts his triumph. Reg doesn’t bother caring about his partner, he’s too busy rubbing his bruised elbows and staring at his older brother who’s apologizing for being late.

“Hello, Reg! Lockhart here taking you up?” Sirius calls as he bounces across the classroom, apparently in a stellar mood.

“He hasn’t taken me up.” Regulus growls as he gets back to his feet, watching Lockhart eye Sirius up and down. 

“Doesn’t look that way to me. You need some help?” 

“Why are you here?”

“Didn’t you hear? Pollock’s enlisted me to tutor. Lockhart, did you just jinx him or deflect a spell?”

“Jinxed.” Lockhart replies primly. 

“Let’s work on the deflection, then, how about?” 

“We don’t need your help.” Regulus tells his brother in a low voice, not wanting to meet Sirius’s eyes.

“Yes, you do. Alright Lockhart, go ahead and jinx him again. Deflect it, Reg.” Lockhart sends a well aimed jinx at Regulus, who half deflects it by canceling out the jinx, just not sending it back. Sirius standing there watching him makes him feel nervous and ill, but he keeps his defenses raised enough that some sort of magic is cast, at least. 

“There you go, that’s a start. Here, hold your wand like this…” Sirius moves over to touch Regulus’s wand and Regulus incredulously lets him instruct him. “Try again.” Lockhart sends another jinx and Regulus half deflects it again, feeling frustrated but a tiny bit pleased that he’s not been thrown across the floor again. “Okay, see, you’re making progress!” Sirius says with a smile. “You two work on that, I’ll be back.” He leaves to go help another partnership, and Regulus turns back to Lockhart, feeling bitter anger and a strange wave of jealousy overcome him into finally fucking deflecting the Ravenclaw’s jinxes. 

The Sirius Black teaching method has worked just fine. 


	31. [YR 3] You In This Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jk rowling: mentions minor characters literally once in passing while mad eye moody points at them in an old picture
> 
> me: takes it upon myself to develop them to their fullest potential because hogwarts is nothing if not a magical version of degrassi and requires multiple characters to ensure maximum drama

_ you in this light feels like a thing i can’t remember _

_ feeling disarmed, a little raw and decentered  _

**m**

Marlene sits at breakfast on a chilly morning in October and watches Dorcas Meadowes talk. 

The thing is, she’s incredibly compelling. Her lips are naturally a deep pink color and look full: beestung and plump. Marlene’s got thin lips. Dorcas has long, thick, dark brown hair and full eyebrows and she can do this thing where she only raises one of them and it makes Marlene laugh. Marlene’s eyebrows are a pale white blonde and thin enough that they’re hardly there. And Dorcas has an irresistible way of storytelling that involves her asking rhetorical questions and drawing in topics that her listeners relate to.

This morning, Marlene had been listening to Potter talk about Quidditch while watching Dorcas’s lips move, not hearing the girl and not looking at the boy. All of this messy conversation comes to a single moment of clarity when Dorcas says-

“I think I’m going to go out for Quidditch.”

“ _ What?!” _ Marlene and Potter ask at once, hardly noticing their joined speech. 

“This is going a little too far if it’s about Shacklebolt.” Lily tells her seriously while Potter talks over her.

“What a great idea, Meadowes! We can practice together! And then play against each other, how grand! What position?” Potter’s dark face is lit up in his usual sunny grin, and Marlene feels a strange sinking in her stomach. She had been practicing flying all summer long, with her brother Frazer and sister Katie helping her execute certain maneuvers, and Frazer even teaching her some plays. Dorcas is loud and bright and bold, a trendsetter and clearly earning respect from Potter and Pettigrew. Even Remus looks a little impressed. Marlene knows she’ll be thought of as the copy-cat for showing up to tryouts, and looks down at her porridge feeling a little unhappy. 

“You alright?” Remus asks from her side. He’s half reading the newspaper and half listening to Dorcas and Potter talk, but now seems to tune them out. Marlene is sat at the very edge of their group with Remus to shield her from everyone else, and she confesses her thoughts to him in a quiet voice.

“I’ve been practicing for Beater all summer, and I was thinking of trying out too.”

“Oh, cool.” Remus folds the paper and shifts to look at her, giving her his full attention. “Don’t want James to know? He’ll be dragging you down to the pitch in a second.” This seems to ring true, as Potter is currently begging Dorcas to come and fly with him in the afternoon. 

“Nah, I think I’ll just show up to tryouts and see what happens.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Shall I come, do you think? Cheer you on, like?” Marlene giggles and tucks a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face.

“Don’t think so, I’ll probably get nervous and fall off my broom.”

“You won’t, you’re too talented to fall off.” Marlene just makes a humming sound in response and looks back up at Remus, who smiles gently at her. She really likes him, honest to god, but sometimes feels like her affection for him is forced. He makes her nervous sometimes, with his swinging moods and boy limbs and the heartless pranks that he pulls with his friends. She probably would fall off her broom if he attended Quidditch, just because she values his opinions so highly and sometimes wishes that she didn’t. 

Boys, that’s the thing. It’s always about boys. Dorcas talks about Shacklebolt night and day, Mary has started pining after Sirius Black, and Lily has developed a crush on Hyatt Ibex, a fourth year who flies Chaser for Gryffindor. And there’s Marlene, of course, but she’s technically been ‘dating’ Remus since first year, and their romance is nothing new. The thing is, neither of them have ever called themselves boyfriend or girlfriend in the presence of each other, or ever said they’re dating. It’s almost like they’re friends who kiss and cuddle sometimes, and that’s all. Nothing scarier, nothing further or more mature. Just sort of friends. 

True, in first year Marlene had been innocent and moved a little too fast. Remus had been one of her best friends but he was a boy, so she decided to kiss him because that’s what boys and girls do, right? But the thrills of kissing him have worn off and though the two stay close, they hardly kiss anymore. Remus doesn’t seem particularly interested either. Like last year, his blazing confidence from the summer had worn out over the course of September and now he seems as withdrawn as ever, if not more so than usual. 

So Marlene is glad that Remus doesn’t surprise her by showing up to Quidditch trials. She has enough to worry about anyways. The afternoon of tryouts is cool but with enough sunshine to light up the grounds. Marlene stands in the bathroom of the girls dorms, plaiting her hair. She’s wearing her black Quidditch trousers and a crimson long sleeved shirt. With her hair pulled back, her thin face looks serious and her blue eyes flash bravely. Marlene thinks herself rather cool.

“Hiya Marls, what are you- oh! Oh, god, don’t tell me you’re going out for Quidditch too? I’ll have lost all of my friends!” Lily Evans has entered the dorm and immediately runs her mouth at the sight of Marlene looking ready to take on the pitch. 

“What do you mean, all your friends? You’ve still got Mary! And Dorcas’s friend Emmeline!” Emmeline Vance is a blonde haired Hufflepuff, one of Dorcas’s roommates. She’s been introduced to their group this year and while Marlene likes her enough, she’s a bit of a know it all. 

“Mary’s too busy trying to get with Black, and besides, she’s working with the arts club on some project.” Lily takes a long look at Marlene. “And Emmeline’s a bubblehead, anyways.” She adds as a sort of afterthought, demonstrating her general dedication to the friend group. 

“You might as well try out too, if you’re looking for an in with Ibex.” Lily flushes red and smiles, looking gorgeous as ever and Marlene tries not to think about that, how beautiful Lily Evans looks in late afternoon light. In any light.

Lily lets Marlene go down to the pitch and wishes her luck, which makes Marlene feel like she’s floating and fills her with a daring confidence that propels her down to the pitch. Black and Potter are both there and both turn with identical wide eyed expressions on their faces as she joins them. Hyatt Ibex, Lily’s new interest, is standing with them. Honestly, he’s fit and plenty good looking, but he does look a little bit like Potter. Dark skin, warm eyes, bright grin, tousled hair. Their faces are different, yeah, and Hyatt’s got a more humble personality but Marlene notes the similarities.

“Alright, lads?”

“You’re trying out, McKinnon?” Black asks her obliviously. Marlene leans her broom against her and cracks all of her knuckles, then her neck.

“I most definitely am.”

**j**

Marlene McKinnon can fly the circumference of the pitch faster than anyone on the team and hits a bludger so hard (and so far) that she cracks the length of a school bat. Her blonde braids whip in the wind as she races Sirius through the air and she spits like a boy when she lands, wiping sweat from her red face and grinning with the exhilaration that comes with Quidditch. Izzy makes her Beater on the spot.

Izzy Adams, now a fifth year, had been surprised to be named Quidditch captain in a letter sent directly from Professor McGonagall over the summer. McGonagall seemed to feel that after Gryffindor’s terrific losses last season, what they truly needed was a young, lively and spirited leader with sharp talent and good leadership skills. Rosa Corrals, now the eldest member of the team, hadn’t taken the naming personally. Both Dottie and her boyfriend Amon had left the team after their rather tiresome previous season, and now James, Hyatt, and Rosa are the last three remaining members of the team that James had played for during first year.

Rosa hadn’t been too upset about Dottie leaving, and seems a little too pleased with herself for staying committed to the team.

“Wouldn’t give up on us any day.” She tells them with genuine feeling. “This will be our year.” James agrees. The team has filled out nicely this year, and James feels much more confident about it than he did last year, despite Yetta’s unfailing leadership. Izzy, though, is kinder, happier, and more forgiving. She’s flying Seeker, Sirius has made the team as Keeper, Marlene and Rosa are playing Beaters, and James, Hyatt, and a very small second year called Nathaniel Neary are Chasers. 

They all return to the dorms in a burst of good energy, joking and laughing and full of excitable cheer for the upcoming season. Rosa gets them some butterbeers from her dorm and they have a little sort of party in the common room, celebrating Gryffindor’s enthusiastic new team. James leaves briefly to go upstairs to change out of his sweaty practice robes, and pulls them off as he enters the empty dorms, stumbling out of his trousers and throwing them into the basket on the floor that he (and only he) keeps for dirty clothes.

And then he spots Remus.

“Merlin’s beard, Moony, I didn’t know you were up here!” James calls in a bit of a shock, grabbing a t-shirt to put on. Remus isn’t even watching him, he’s lying on his back in bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Mmm.” Remus mumbles noncommittally, obviously not interested in the prospect of James Potter standing in nothing but his boxer shorts in the middle of the room. He doesn’t even look over at him as James pulls on a pair of trousers over his pants. 

“I thought you were downstairs- we’re celebrating! We’ve got a splendid team this year, you know, Sirius made keeper!” Then after not much of a reaction from Remus, James pushes forward. “And Marlene, she’s our beater! And a bloody good one, too.” Finally, Remus shifts his focus from the ceiling to James, with a look of very mild interest on his face.

“Has she?”

“Yeah, we’re all downstairs,” James says enthusiastically. “Celebrating.” He repeats.

“Lush.” Remus turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

“Are you alright?” Remus sighs loudly, but there’s no fight in him at all. James has well learned his lesson about asking Remus too many questions when he gets into a mood, but he hasn’t seemed angry as of late, he’s just seemed distant. He’s not been acting much of anything.

“Just tired.” That much is clear. There’s dark circles marked under Remus’s eyes and he looks more sleepless than usual, which is saying something. Even his generally fair appetite seems to have left him, and he’s taken to skipping dinner and hiding up in the dorms. The only people James ever sees him talk to with any sort of interest anymore are Marlene and Sirius. James can’t remember the last time he’s made Remus smile, which is a shame, because Remus has a lovely, charming smile. 

“Sorry to hear that, mate.” James rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet and sees Remus’s throat work, his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He knows that nothing he says can change Remus’s mood, it will only make it worse, and he heads downstairs without another word from his friend. 

Sirius looks up expectantly from his discussion with Mary when James descends the stairs, obviously expecting Remus to be along with him. 

“No Moony?” 

“He’s in a mood.” James replies, shrugging it off as something usual, which it is becoming more and more often. Though Remus gets pissy at James when he tries to talk to him about his big bad feelings, Sirius is enjoying the sociability of everyone in the common room for the moment and would clearly rather not go upstairs just to make Remus feel better. So they stay in the common room, abandoning their thoughts of Remus and instead simply enjoying the energy and attention of other Gryffindors.

Mary breaks through the small crowd wearing an obscenely  _ muggle _ outfit that James stops to gawk at. She wears an a-line pleated skirt that’s fire engine red. Then, there’s a long sleeved dark blue turtleneck top. On top of that is a knit sleeveless vest in bright yellow, which matches her knee-high yellow socks. She’s got shiny black platform shoes on to finish the look and Sirius gives her an appreciative smile as she sidles up to him. Gold jewelry glints from her ears and James is, as usual, shocked by the blatant confidence that only Mary MacDonald possesses.

“Did you hear? Dorcas made the Hufflepuff team.”

“Oh, grand!” James replies. “What position?”

“Chaser, so get ready to play hard!”

“I’m sure Marlene won’t hesitate to knock her head off.” James assures her, and Mary laughs with an infectious tone that gets both James and Sirius laughing along with her. Mary always brings good cheer with her. 

“Evans around?” James asks casually, and Mary jerks a thumb towards the windowsill, where Lily is sitting and chatting loudly with Marlene and Hyatt. She’s wearing a pretty white summer dress printed with flowers and the white fabric against her freckled skin provides a cool contrast that makes James’s face heat up. “Chat with you later.” He tells Mary and Sirius, who are locked in some odd, deep staring session.

“Ta,” Sirius says distractedly, pulling gently at a piece of Mary's curly brown hair. James wanders across the common room to interrupt a conversation about muggle sports that he’s not keen on understanding. 

“How’s things?” He asks loudly, earning a frown from Evans as he cuts her off mid sentence. She makes an irritated noise in her throat, and Marlene and her make knowing eye contact while Hyatt continues cheerfully on as though nothing has happened. 

“Talking football versus Quidditch, I'm the mediator,” he laughs. Hyatt’s a half blood, like Remus, and always seems relatively unphased by news from either world. “Have you played footie?”

“Yeah, Evans and MacDonald taught me first year,” James responds, feeling a bit put off by the girls’ sudden, sullen silence. “Though who would rather play a sport on the ground when you could fly?” Evans shrugs, pulling a hand back through her loose red hair. 

“It’s quite fun to run around sometimes, that’s all.” And then, silence. Marlene is glaring at James with a fiery sort of vengeance and he stares back helplessly, not knowing what he’s done wrong. “Anyways,” Evans plunges on, “I’m going to get another butterbeer.”

“I’ll come!” Hyatt offers quickly, and James is about to follow them across the common room before he feels Marlene’s hand clamp around his wrist. Her ice blue eyes freeze him in place and he lets the pair of them walk off before she gives him a talking to.

“Potter, are you  _ daft? _ ” 

“Am I what?” James asks her with clueless stupidity.

“Lily’s trying to get to know Ibex better and you of all people have to interrupt and goggle at her like a bloody bobblehead!”

“Whoa there, McKinnon, calm down! You were over here talking to them!” Marlene frowns and James feels a little chilled by her anger. God, Marlene McKinnon can be scary.

“ _ Don’t  _ tell me to calm down, and besides, Potter,  _ I’m  _ not over here flirting with Lily!” James’s face heats up again and he’s momentarily glad that he’s not Remus Lupin- the most unfortunate blusher in the entire universe. 

“I’m not- I’m not  _ flirting.  _ Hyatt’s my mate! I wanted to talk with him!” 

“You tell yourself that.” Marlene folds her arms over her chest and James shrinks under her gaze. “She’s  _ not  _ interested in you, Potter. Get that through your thick head.”

“I’m- er,” James stammers, trying to get himself back on solid footing, “I’m not even interested in her, you know, I’m just being nice. Besides, I’ve got, er, I’m going, I’ve- well, I’ve already got someone.” Marlene raises her thin eyebrows.

“Yeah? Who?”

“Katie Robinson.”

**l**

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year falls in late September and all the third years are buzzing with energy about what they’re going to see. At some point over the summer, Lily had promised Severus that she would go with him, and that promise once again falls to her on the dreary Saturday morning while her friends are prattling excitedly about what they’re planning to do.

Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and Emmeline are all going together and Lily finds herself a little envious of the fun they’re most definitely going to have. 

“What about the boys?” She asks a little desperately, wishing for some news that Potter or Black might be coming along to ruin their fun some way or another, but Marlene shrugs perplexedly.

“They’re not even going! Remus doesn’t even seem interested, it’s too bad.”

“He’s been acting a bit off recently, wouldn’t you say?” Lily asks semi-interestedly. Remus is her favorite out of the group of boys, but she still wonders why he even bothers with Potter, Black, and poor old Pettigrew. Well, Peter isn’t so bad. He’s just a little spineless. 

“Yeah…” Marlene replies distractedly, glancing at herself in the mirror while Mary does her makeup. 

“Well, have fun, anyways.” Lily continues, pulling on her boots. 

“You talk like you aren’t even going!” Mary says loudly. Her back is turned to Lily while she rubs sparkly glitter shadow onto Marlene’s eyelids. 

“I may as well not be, Sev isn’t much for  _ fun.  _ He’s more of a sit and talk type.” Mary just scoffs in response. 

“You enjoy un-fun Snape.” And Lily tries, she really does. It’s drizzling outside and Severus shares his big black umbrella with Lily as they walk the tree lined pathway down towards Hogsmeade. An early autumn has turned the leaves into a riot of colors and Lily marvels at them as they spiral down in the rain, flashing gold and crimson in the grey day. Hogsmeade is full of excited third years bustling from place to place, enjoying exploring a village that they’ve never been to before. 

Lily and Severus stand crammed under the umbrella, their odd shoulders getting wet in the rain as they press together. Sev is wearing a generally heavy coat despite the mild weather, and hunches over in the shadow that his umbrella casts, looking unbearably downcast as he watches other students move around them, repeating familiar motions of fun.

“Well,” Lily starts, as he’s stopped walking and she isn’t sure what to do, “window shopping?”

“Sure.” Severus answers slowly, still looking around as Lily leads him along, not wanting to leave the shelter of the umbrella but not wanting to stand so close to him if he won’t walk anywhere. She’ll lead the way no problem, it’s just his unwillingness to follow that’s got her so frustrated. They gaze in shop windows while she points out things she’d love: a pair of shoes, a new quill, that crazy pair of Spectrespecs in the window of Dervish and Banges. 

Severus nods along and replies to her properly, but his heart obviously isn’t in the discussion. Lily tries to make the best of it but Severus finally seems to give up on walking around the village and offers to buy her a drink in the Three Broomsticks. She seems to take this as his form of an apology and lets her lead her down the high street to the pub, which is full of students and professors alike, much to both of their dismay. 

Professor Slughorn, Professor Pollock, and Rubeus Hagrid are drinking together and all three of them smile and greet Lily and Severus loudly, leaving the pair of them dutifully embarrassed and squashing into a small table at the back of the pub to get away from a familiar crowd. There’s some older students hanging out but thankfully, no friends of Lily’s, and definitely none of Severus’s. He abandons her at the table to go buy them drinks and she puts her elbows on the table and cups her face in her hands despite the tactlessness of the gesture. Sev’s been acting like a right prick the entire afternoon, and she’s on her last straw by the time he wanders back over to the table carrying two bottles of butterbeer. 

“Thanks,” She says as he sets the bottles down on the table. Severus Snape is awkward, has always been, and chances no more than a glance at her to figure out how she’s feeling. “Is there something wrong, Sev? Somewhere you’d rather be?” Severus looks away from her and rocks the bottle back and forth between his hands. 

“No, Lil, I’m fine here.”

“Then why’ve you been moping about all day? Is it a chore to do this? You asked me back in the summer to go to the first Hogsmeade weekend with you, so here I am! Putting in a little effort, unlike you, I might note!” Severus sighs loudly and Lily dutifully ignores how nagging she must sound. 

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s just… it’s  _ different,  _ now.” He doesn’t add anything to that sentence and Lily feels a fire burning in her chest.

“What’s different? Our friendship? What, because we’re at school?” Severus gives a half shrug with weak shoulders, a gesture that reminds her weakly of Remus, and she forces herself to take a deep breath. Still, Lily’s never been afraid of confrontation, and Severus has been so distant and cold all day that she’s fed up with pretending to be enjoying herself when she’d much rather be off with her girlfriends, actually making the most of the day. 

“My friends, they just… well, I get a lot, well.” Severus seems to eat his words before they even come out and his pale face shows what looks like a ridiculous amount of regret. 

“Sev, for the love of god, can you just get your bloody words out?”

“Sorry!” He jumps a bit at her forcefulness. “They, not me, but  _ they  _ seem to have something to say, well, they’ve got an awful lot to say about muggleborns.” Lily keeps her mouth from dropping open by fixing Severus with a glare that she hopes is terrifying.

“So you’re embarrassed to be seen with me now that we’re back at school, is that it? That’s why you want to sit in the farthest corner, that’s why you don’t want to walk two steps up the damn street? You’re embarrassed of me.” She’s keeping her voice low for both of their sakes, but now stands up. “Don’t bother asking me to hang about if you don’t want to be seen with me. Piss off.” She hadn’t really been meaning to shove the bottle of butterbeer he bought her off the table, but it falls into his lap, soaking him, and then crashes to the floor in a shower of liquid and broken glass.

“Lily-” But she’s storming out without waiting for an apology or explanation. It’s still raining outside and for a brief moment, she considers crying, but that thought is quickly put to death. Lily Evans isn’t weak. She should be happy now, she can go find her friends, and that’s her first order of business. But for a moment, she stands in the rain and feels an ache in her chest that feels like betrayal and wounded pride and tastes bitter and sick and awful. 

In the muggle world, her sister calls in a freak and she feels self conscious about her own abilities, sometimes even wishing that she could have been born a muggle, as normal and ignorant as the rest of them. And in the wizarding world, she’s viewed as  _ lesser,  _ not as good as the rest of them, although she’s a damn smart witch and as capable, if not more, than a good number of her classmates. 

Lily Evans doesn’t cry. She squares her shoulders, straightens her back, and pushes her wet hair out of her eyes. That’s that, then. Time to go find her friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do yall feel abt the different POVs? whose perspective is your favorite?? i'd love to know what you think!


	32. [YR 3] Walking Disasters

_ and flowers might wilt when we walk past, and self help might help when it makes us laugh _

_ only finding questions in answers, you and i are just walking disasters  _

**r**

There are many regretful things that Remus Lupin has done throughout his life, but one that exists on a higher plane than the rest of them is agreeing to help Jasmine Pettigrew and her friends with schoolwork. At first, this innocent exchange had suited him fine, but he had been studying in the library a few days later when they returned with friends for a lesson in Charms. And so Remus had tutored the four of them patiently, never really minding when they continued to seek him out for help.

Except when the week of the full moon comes, he’s overwhelmed by a lazy sort of depression that stops him from having the energy to do  _ anything,  _ and his sleep schedule takes on very odd patterns. He’ll go to bed early, trying his best to miss dinner since he’s never got an appetite, but midnight will come and Remus will wake up in a cold sweat, breathless and terrified from nightmares. Those nightmares will haunt him through the night and he’ll usually fall back into a fitful sleep around three or four in the morning. The schedule of the past two years has been wiped away by Remus’s newfound depression, and he’ll lie in bed in the morning awake until Sirius gets up, and only then will he finally drag himself out of bed.

And he doesn't know what to do about it. He doesn't even feel  _ angry,  _ necessarily, or sad or anything at all. Truthfully, he  _ doesn’t  _ feel anything. It’s a strange lack of emotions that seem to follow him around and Remus tries to find something to care about but can’t. He’s given up on getting ahead of his schoolwork and leaves everything until the last minute, usually spending one night a week staying up late to finish assigned work that he had procrastinated. 

All of his friends seem to be busy with other, better things taking place and Remus is left in the dust, passionless and empty. Tonight, he’s only sat at the dinner table to get inspiration from his friends for his Divination dream diary. True, he could write all about the gory details of the werewolf dreams where he kills everyone he loves, but he’s not sure if Professor Wakefield would appreciate that. So he makes up a load of bullshit that his friends are eager to assist him in. 

Remus has just finished detailing a dream about waking up at a beach and living life as an inflatable flamingo when Marlene, Sirius, James, and Hyatt return from Quidditch practice, looking both exhausted and excited. They sit down, Marlene taking her usual place next to Remus, and she takes a glance at him while she fills her plate.

“Have you eaten? You’re looking quite peaky.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry.” He replies as Sirius reads over his recollection of the dream and snickers appreciatively. Remus looks sideways at Marlene’s plate and is struck with a stroke of genius. “There we go, Marlene, you’re a savior. Here’s one about me turning into a chicken…” Sirius laughs as Remus snatches his notebook back and gets to writing. Remus doesn’t notice Julie Blackstone slowly but surely scooting down the bench to get closer to him. Neither does Marlene, who’s half eating and half reading over Remus’s shoulders. 

“You’ll never get away with turning that in,” she scoffs, laughing at the ridiculous tale that Remus is winding into his dream. 

“Wakefield’ll let us get away with anything! Too bad you aren’t taking it, anyways, I’m fascinated by the deep dark meaning of dream interpretation.” Remus doesn’t look up while he writes, just brushes his hair out of his eyes and continues scribbling down words in his untidy handwriting while Marlene looks on in amusement. Then Sirius asks:

“Can I help you?” 

“Hm?” Remus asks, thinking the question is directed at him- finally looking up and around, laying eyes on Julie who’s sat nearly right next to him. “Oh, Julie! Christ, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” Julie responds, not looking very sorry. “We need your help, are you free tonight?” It’s Tuesday, and the third years have Astronomy tonight, which means that after recounting some made up dreams, he has to finish making his model of Saturn’s moons. Bugger. 

“Free for what?” Sirius asks rudely, interrupting a conversation that has nothing to do with him.

“I can’t tonight, Julie, sorry. I’ve got Astronomy work to do,” Remus replies, ignoring Sirius.

“What about tomorrow?”

“I’ve got a report to write for Runes…” Remus realizes that he’s got loads and loads of work piling up and rubs his hands over his face. “What about Thursday, then? I’m free Thursday. What’s this about, anyways?”

“It’s for Herbology.” Julie is very serious about this, she’s the most forthright of all her friends and is always the first one to seek out Remus since the rest of them are all too scared of talking to him one on one. 

Remus is rather clueless, and has a self confidence much too low to realize that he’s got a group of fangirls that look forward to the days where the older boy sits down and tutors them. He’s kind, patient, handsome, and the scars on his face make him look incredibly cool. They’re all a bit obsessed with him, but Julie is a no nonsense type and doesn't turn into a blathering idiot when it comes to talking to him. 

“About Bowtruckles and the severing charm and the ethics of it all, you know, and you take Care of Magical Creatures,” Remus wonders how she knows this but decides not to ask, “and it’s all rather complicated and we need your help. And it’ll have to be tonight, because class is tomorrow.”

“So you’ve left it until tonight?”

“You’ve obviously been doing the same!” Julie says indignantly, and Remus sighs inwardly.

“Right, but, I’ve really got to finish this work tonight, why don’t you ask Pete? He’s quite good at Herbology and he takes Care of Magical Creatures, too. He’s Jasmine’s brother, for god’s sakes, why haven’t you asked him?” 

“We don’t want Pete.” Julie says determinedly. “We want you.”

“Remus, I can finish your bloody model. I’ve already done mine.” Sirius offers, looking at Julie.

“Would you?” Remus asks. For some reason, he can’t be bothered to do his own work but doesn’t mind having to sit down and help the girls with their work. Sirius once again agrees and Remus finds himself in the Hufflepuff common room instead of hanging out with his friends, like he usually would on a night with Astronomy. 

He explains to them Bowtruckles and the severing charm and the mechanics of it all while Julie, Aileen, and Jasmine scribble down studious notes of second years who are too innocent to realize that their studies early on don’t really matter so much at all. They half want to spend this night with the amber eyed boy who wears big jumpers and has hair in bad need of cutting- they want to imagine touching that soft hair and having Remus look at them as more than just younger kids but he never will, they know, he’s already got a girlfriend and he’s older and cooler. 

Remus doesn’t see himself as the idol that they do. His stomach twists and churns sickeningly and he feels the pressure of vomit in the back of his throat while he looks over Aileen’s hastily drawn up layout for her essay.

“That looks good,” he tells her in a half strangled tone, glad that he hadn’t eaten anything for dinner so when he is sick, it’ll just be acid and spit. He only manages an hour of walking them through it before the nausea becomes overpowering and he makes an excuse to get himself out of there, walking very quickly back up to Gryffindor tower. 

His friends are hanging about in their usual corner and Marlene waves at him with a smile on her face, but Remus tells her as quickly as he can that he’s feeling sort of ill (a lie of all sorts, he feels on the verge of practically dying with all of the pain swarming inside him), and then he nearly runs up the stairs to make it to the bathroom on time to throw up the sparse contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He hates his life. God, does he hate his life.

**s**

Sirius doesn’t usually let guilt get to him, but he feels rather bad for dragging Remus down to the restricted section of the library when it’s obvious that his friend is ill and exhausted. He even complains about the library as the four of them hunch down under the invisibility cloak and walk purposefully through the dark halls.

“Why would they even  _ create  _ a restricted section if no one can get in? Just give the books to a professor, don’t make a section full of books that students can’t even access. It’s painful to sit in that library and know there’s a roped off bit I can’t access! Like, bloody hell!”

“You’re upset because you aren’t able to _ read _ them?” James asks incredulously. 

“Of course! Don’t tell me you three are satisfied not being able to read them?” Remus asks, and the silence he’s met with answers the question for him. Sirius doesn’t get the whole point of reading school books, or books in general. There’s real life waiting for him, and he’d much rather go out and make the best of it rather than sitting around with his face shoved in a book, like Remus does. 

Sirius and James had talked for a long while after Quidditch practice about what they would do by means of a necessary Halloween prank this year. The pair had bounced ideas back and forth in the changing room, with both Hyatt and the young Nate Neary offering up some ideas, but nothing they had discussed had been satisfying enough to pursue. 

So, back up in the dormitory, Sirius had teased the idea with the master prank planner, Remus Lupin. Remus had been sitting on his bed surrounded by Transfiguration texts and suffering from a headache evidently bad enough to justify him wearing a pair of rectangular muggle sunglasses to dull the pain that light brought in.

After asking him for prank ideas, Sirius had watched Remus close his book and push the sunglasses back up his forehead, tangling through his soft hair. Remus looked very tactile in that light, scars ridged on his face, lines around his eyes and mouth deep in his skin, sunglasses holding back a tangle of brown hair in bad need of a haircut. His warm eyes had lit up, though, sparkling with ideas. Because Remus was always the person to turn to when it comes to prank ideas and he had spoken three words that had permanently changed the path of their ideas:

Fire breathing pumpkins.

So they snuck down to the restricted section of the library and stepped back to allow Remus to display his extensive knowledge of the organizational systems of libraries. He had returned from his shelf-climbing with a heavy spellbook that he claimed would do the trick. They had sat up all night in the dorms, despite Peter’s pleas of wanting sleep, and by daylight, the prank had been sufficiently planned. 

James and Peter both value their sleep more than Remus or Sirius, who both suffer from nightmares of different varieties and have no qualms about being paired up to walk the school at night and bewitch all the pumpkins set up by Hagrid around the school to spit fire. Remus is rather quiet as they make their way around the school tending to each individual pumpkin and making sure that they don’t miss any. 

“Are you alright, Moony?” Sirius asks quietly as Remus stops them after climbing the high spiraled staircase to Gryffindor tower, red faced and breathless from the hike up. “Those fags finally caught up to your lungs?” Remus lets out a long sigh and gives Sirius an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “I know you’ve gotten more.” 

“Oh, seriously?” Sirius makes a face but doesn’t take the pun any farther, knowing how sick they all are of it. 

“I can smell it on you, sometimes. You should get some perfume.”

“Sure, I’ll nick some off Marlene.” Remus responds sarcastically, finally feeling fit to keep walking as they slowly maneuver down the hallway to the portrait hole. “You haven’t begged any, though.”

“Nah,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “I’m on the Quidditch team now, so it’s better not to. You shouldn’t either, you know. We’re a bit too young to be smoking so much.” Remus doesn’t respond until they climb through the portrait hole and take off the cloak.

“They make me feel better, you know?” He sinks down onto the couch in front of the empty fireplace like he doesn’t want to go up to bed just yet, and Sirius sits down next to him. His eyes sting with tiredness, but if Remus doesn’t want to go to bed, then neither does he.

“Better from what?” Remus stretches out his long limbs and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of them while Sirius lays back on the couch, sticking his feet in Remus’s lap while winding his hands through the watery vision of the invisibility cloak. Remus looks awfully exhausted, his face pale, eyes smudged with dark circles, and hair flat from not being washed enough.

“I just feel ill a lot, that’s all. Ciggies help, don’t ask me why.” 

“Ah, there’s some muggle science I could study. Addiction.” Remus looks over at him with a frown.

“I’m not addicted.” Sirius just shrugs and Remus lets out another long sigh while he relaxes into the soft cushions of the couch. 

“Where’d you get them, then?” Sirius asks.

“I asked Gideon Prewett, and he referred me to this Hufflepuff, Caradoc Dearborn. Don’t go running to him, though, he tries to keep it lowkey.”

“Referred, that sounds so professional! He sold to you? How old is he?”

“Just a year older. I think James knows him better, maybe.”

“James has got connections.” Sirius mumbles, and Remus nods agreeably. 

“Aye. So have you, though.”

“And you! With your fanclub!” Remus cracks a smile and grins over at Sirius, who smiles right back at him. “They’ll have you giving out autographs soon! Jasmine’s been asking Pete for photos of you!”

“Shut up, she hasn’t!” Remus calls, his face reddening but the dopey smile not leaving his face. 

“Nah, she hasn’t.” Sirius gives in, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “We’re quite popular, I suppose.” Remus’s smile dies as he considers this, like he’s never thought about the concept of he himself being popular before. 

“I reckon we are.” They sit in a comfortable sort of silence before a loud and entitled voice begs the question:

“What are you two doing down here?” Alice Forestcue is standing halfway down the stairs to the girl’s dorms, looking rather scandalized at seeing the pair of third years sitting down on the sofa in the abandoned common room.

“I could say the same for you!” Sirius pipes up bravely, not noticing the way that Remus tenses up as Alice continues on her way down the stairs. She’s a sixth year and has long, wavy brown hair that’s usually plaited down her back. Tonight, it looks sleek and shiny, and hangs over her shoulders. She’s wearing a blue dress with white stripes over polka dotted tights, and flashy green boots. Sirius can tell from one look that Alice is going out. Almost on cue, loud footsteps come down the stairs from the boy’s side of the common room, and Sirius turns his head to see Frank Longbottom standing there, staring first at Alice with a look like love, and then down at Remus and Sirius on the couch.

“Hiya Frank!” Sirius announces, giving the older boy a wave. Frank himself is wearing brownish orange trousers with a very high waist, and a purple patterned shirt with a high collar. And shiny black dance shoes. Merlin, they’re going dancing.

“Hi, Sirius, Remus,” Frank says as he continues to descend the stairs as though they aren’t even there. “You two are having a good night?” Frank is head boy this year and Sirius finds it plainly hilarious that him and his girlfriend are sneaking out of the school to presumably go dancing in Hogsmeade. It’s quite romantic, really, and Sirius beams at them. Alice rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Indeed we are.” Sirius sits up a little straighter, taking his feet out of Remus’s lap. “Going out for some fun?”

“Indeed we are.” Alice replies. She looks at Frank with a very affectionate expression and Frank smiles back at her. 

“Alright, no need to get down on one knee!” Sirius barks, expecting one of them to break out of their daze, but their eye contact never fails as they grab hands and stumble over to the portrait hole. Remus is watching with an amused smile on his face. Finally, Frank turns back to look at them.

“No need to tell anyone about our midnight expeditions?”

“I won’t if you won’t,” Sirius responds fairly, and Frank nods. Head boy, his arse. Frank gives him a warm, hearty smile and then helps Alice out of the portrait hole. He presses a finger to his lips, grins, and then disappears out after her.

**j**

Sirius’s 14th birthday is marked by a huge party that James and Peter play the main role in orchestrating. Despite Peter’s tendency to hang around in the background of conversations, he’s got a decent sized social circle and does a decent job in getting the word out about the party. During dinner, Sirius finds himself engaged in rowdy conversation with Marlene, Remus, and Mary, so James breaks away from their group and edges his way over to the Ravenclaw table, where Katie Robinson is sat.

James had already asked her to the next Hogsmeade weekend in late November, as he’d spent the last one planning pranks, and he had been satisfied enough by seeing Snape’s eyebrows burnt off by the fire breathing pumpkins on Halloween that he’s fine holding off on another prank until he gets his love life sorted. Katie looks up and sees him striding over, and slides a little ways down the bench to open up a space for him. She’s sitting with specky Elliot Ackerly, a girl named Beatrice Carmichael, and Benjy Fenwick, who’s shaved half of his head over the summer and looks even more badass than usual.

“Alright, then?” James asks, sitting down next to Katie.

“How’s things?” Benjy asks good naturedly. 

“Grand, and you?” Without waiting for a response, James continues. “It’s my mate Sirius’s birthday today, if youse didn’t know. We’re having a party in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, if you’d like to come.” 

“Ooh, mint!” Katie’s clearly excited and so are the rest of her friends, giving appreciative looks at James, who enjoys nothing more than being the center of attention. He spends the rest of dinner with the Ravenclaws, grinning like an idiot with the good feeling of bringing the lot of them back to the Gryffindor common room after dinner ends, where Peter has outdone himself with decorations. 

Gryffindor lions roar Sirius’s name and James’s record player has been dragged down from the dormitory to play Sirius’s new favorite album, which had been gifted to him by Remus: Raw Power by the Stooges. It’s sort of heavy and rough music, not really James’s style, but Remus had told Sirius that it was leading the way to a punk revolution in the U.K. and Sirius had practically drooled when Iggy Pop’s hoarse voice came on over the discordant guitars. 

“Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell” blasts loudly throughout the common room when James, Katie, and the rest of the Ravenclaws enter. Sirius is in the middle of the crowded room, drinking a butterbeer that Edgar Bones may or may not have spiked again, as he often does during birthday celebrations, and talking loudly with Mary MacDonald. She’s got another crazy outfit on. Peter is dancing with Emmeline Vance, Izzy Adams is banging her head and moving around with a well built fifth year that James doesn’t know, and Evans herself is shaking her brilliant red hair along to the heavy music while Hyatt Ibex looks at her with adoring eyes. 

Bloody hell.

“Fancy a drink?” James asks Katie, who’s busy looking around the common room with widened eyes. He supposes that the Ravenclaws aren’t much for parties.

“Sure, yeah.” James takes her hand and leads her through the room that moves with waves of people. Edgar Bones, unsurprisingly, is in charge of the drinks and is talking to one of the Prewett twins while he stands guard over a box of butterbeers.

“Alright, Bones? What are you offering tonight?” Edgar has a very drawn face and light brown hair that he’s parted in the middle with odd curtain bangs. The Prewett twins both have long ginger hair and James doesn’t recognize this one as either Gideon or Fabian, so he doesn't greet him. There’s another boy standing with them, with dark brown hair fringed over his eyes sort of like Remus’s, and eyes so dark brown that they’re almost black. He’s a Hufflepuff, James knows, but doesn’t know his name either.

“None for you!” Bones scoffs as he gives James a sweeping look. “Only for the birthday boy and providers tonight,” he says, gesturing at himself, his friends, and jerking his thumb at where Sirius is spinning Mary in a dizzying dance. 

“Come on, not for the birthday boy’s best mate?” James pleads. Katie is still gazing around the room looking awed and the music is loud enough that she’s barely listening to their conversation. 

“Go on, then.” The mysterious Hufflepuff says. “You’re James Potter, right?” He asks, extending a hand.

“I am.”

“Caradoc Dearborn,” the fourth year says with a wink. “Good to meet you.” He pops the tops on two bottles of butterbeer and grins appraisingly as Bones pours an amber liquid in an unmarked bottle into their drinks.

“Take it easy.” He tells them passively as James picks up the bottles.

“Cheers,” James responds with an easy grin, and presses a bottle into Katie’s hand as he leads her around the room. He talks to her Ravenclaw friends, meeting most of their Quidditch team, and she ends up in an energetic conversation with Remus and Marlene. James enjoys her company a lot- she’s talkative and easy to get along with and works up a safety buzz with James while they move around the room. After some more butterbeer and mysterious, sharp tasting alcohol, they hit the dance floor.

“Shake Appeal” is playing so the record must be nearly over, but it’s a brilliant song for dancing and James moves quickly around with Katie in the middle of the common room, listening to Iggy scream “owww!” in his pitchy voice. Katie takes James’s hands and dances awkwardly to the fast music with him, red faced and laughing. But out of the corner of his eye, James is watching Evans. 

She’s not too far from him and laughs out loud when Iggy howls loudly, pressing her body against Hyatt’s, who’s keeping up a steady stream of conversation that James can’t hear while they dance. Now Iggy is whispering “sex appeal” as the song fades out and James stops dancing while Katie follows his suit, her hand falling away from his as the song ends. 

The next one picks up and Iggy screams as the guitar picks up and Evans and Ibex go dancing back and forth across the room, feet and shoulders and hips moving to the music, smiles on their faces matching and James, bless his poor soul, is  _ jealous.  _

“Come on, love!” Katie calls, tugging at his hands, but James stays still and watches Evan’s hair get stuck on her pink lips and Hyatt runs his hands over those lips to remove the stray piece of hair.  _ Fuck,  _ that’s one of his best mates and the girl he had fallen in love with. Katie’s seaside eyes follow James’s gaze across the room and she tugs at his hand again, harder this time. “Something wrong?”

“No, no.” James tugs his eyes away from Evans and Ibex and looks at dark haired Katie Robinson, with her greenish eyes and freckled face. If he took his glasses off and charmed her hair red, she could look enough like Evans. “I’ve got a dumb idea.” He confesses to her. James is a champion of bad ideas and wants more than  _ anything  _ for Evans’s eyes to leave Ibex’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Ever flown a broom around a common room?” 


	33. [YR 3] Colder Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some content warnings because shit gets sad:  
> remus’s part: depressed & suicidal thoughts, disordered eating, and descriptions of negative body image  
> sirius’s part: hella gaslighting and emotional abuse from our least favorite parent, walburga black

_ you asked me what was wrong, i said ‘i’m tired of waking up’ _

**r**

Remus tries his best to keep himself in a fair mood and hold a fine sense of humor when his friends are around, but faking smiles for the whole world is getting more and more tedious when he spends most of every single day feeling ill enough to cry. He tries to keep quiet about the pain he’s in but the days on the week of the full moon are worse than anything, and during the second week of November he spends a good deal of time lying in bed and wishing with a little more of a concrete feeling that he was dead. 

He knows that he could ask for help. This illness isn’t something that anyone else suffers but him, yet he’s sure that Madam Pomfrey could help ease the incessant aching, the feverish nausea, the migraines- but he doesn’t want to complain. Remus isn’t weak, and the mere thought of wandering down to the hospital wing to tell the matron that he needs her extra potions every month to make the physical illness go away is embarrassing enough for him to continue suffering like there’s something humble and holy about this pain, like it’s something he deserves. Maybe he does deserve it. He doesn’t know.

He’ll still have nightmares about a full moon- round and white like it’s eaten too much and he’ll dream about the buzzing in his bones, the way he knows when he’s about to transform because he can’t feel his hands and the way he always wakes up crying- wiping tears from his eyes and gasping for breath as he’ll twist in the sweaty bedsheets and wonder why people believe in God when Remus has never been shown mercy. 

Things just get worse as November freezes into a tired December. Days grow shorter and Remus dreads nighttime, when he has to lie in bed and eventually succumb to the dreams where he mauls his friends horrifically and wakes up hating himself enough that he can’t get it off of his mind- not now, not ever. There’s always been a few things that serve to make him feel better, like music, reading, food, and Sirius Black, but most, if not all of these things, become harder to come by.

The migraines put a decent stop to Remus’s ability to listen to music without suffering from worse headaches, and words on pages in front of him swim before his eyes. He’s given up on his own schoolwork and copies off of his friends. They don’t mind lending him their work since he’s spent two years giving them his, and the only thing that Remus is left somewhat passionate about is tutoring Jasmine Pettigrew’s group of friends. He doesn’t mind teaching them, not at all, and their own lessons seem so much more important to him than his own do. No one asks if he’s alright.

Meals are the worst, because it’s only then that his issues become evident. He’s taken to skipping breakfast just like Sirius, and does his best to bunk off lunch most days, but is usually dragged down to dinner by Marlene or Peter where he’ll sit and hold back vomit as everyone else eats. He settles for veggies and bread because the thought of eating meat or dairy- anything that comes from a living animal, makes him feel sick. Lycanthropy had always given him an ample appetite, and he has a fast metabolism that had left him scrawny even after eating fatty meals. Now, that same metabolism leads him to losing weight that he didn’t even know he could lose. Marlene points this out on a Tuesday night before Astronomy, much to Remus’s dismay.

He had been sitting up in the windowsill as usual, half in a discussion with Pete while Sirius and James talked about girls to each other.  _ Like  _ girls. Yammering on about Evans and MacDonald and Robinson and things to do at Hogsmeade and gifts to give and how to win them over, all sorts of things that Remus isn’t keen on discussing with them. The girls in question had descended from their dormitory and conversation had morphed into a card game that neither Remus or Marlene wanted to participate in, as they usually don’t. 

They’re both generally satisfied to sit and cuddle up with each other and tonight isn’t an exception- Marlene crosses the room over to Remus like she’s been waiting to do it all day and he’s relieved to have her sit with her warm back against his chest, her thin body held in between his bent legs. He drapes his arms over her shoulders and crosses them over her chest while she relaxes back into his embrace, her blonde hair tangling with his brown jumper. 

Remus shifts a bit and the bone of his hip presses against her side and she turns with a frown on her pretty face.

“Christ, you’re bony! Did you even eat dinner tonight?” Marlene’s voice carries to where the rest of them are sat, and James pipes up thoughtlessly.

“Oh, yeah, Moony’s gone vegan! Even healthier than I am!”

“You don’t  _ look  _ healthy,” Mary adds, frowning at Remus. “You’ll get all pale and die if you don’t eat meat. You need vitamins.”

“I’m not vegan,” Remus protests, although at this point, he sort of is. “Meat and dairy and such, it just gets me… well, it just makes me feel ill.” He shifts uncomfortably when even Lily starts eyeing him worriedly. Remus isn’t one for dramatics, but when it really comes down to it, he’s insecure. More than that, probably.

It’s like, he only glances in the mirror for a few seconds every day to make sure his uniform is in order and his hair is decently tidy. He brushes his teeth while pacing around the bathroom and doesn’t wipe the fog off the mirror after he finishes showering because his reflection always looks back at him pathetically- scarred and skinny and off and weird. To tell the truth, Remus sort of hates himself.

He’s just so bloody  _ skinny  _ and it’s nearly to the point of emaciation these days, not that he’d know from looking at himself. There’s just no fat or muscle on his body. His ribs shine through under his skin, dark hollows in his chest. His collarbones stretch over bony, awkward shoulders that are marred by white and red scars that extend down his back. Some are fresh and purplish red, while others are faded white on his skin. The end of his rib cage pokes out and so do his hip bones. 

And then his stupid legs- so long and so thin with a wide gap between them when he’s standing, thighs so small you can easily wrap both hands around one of them. Remus looks like the poster child for anorexia except he’s not starving himself, he’s just ill all the time, deeply unhappy with himself, and would prefer if everyone stopped talking about his eating habits and his stupid scrawny body.

The rest of the marauders have nothing to say about it, thankfully. 

Unfortunately, girls always have something to say when they’re worried. 

Remus finds himself alone with Lily Evans in the library one evening, studying for Ancient Runes. Dorcas had planned on joining them, but she’s a flaky character and doesn’t show up to meet with them, which gives Lily the perfect opportunity to make Remus uncomfortable.

“Remus,” she starts, her writing speed not slowing in the slightest as she speaks up, “you know, if there’s something wrong, you can always tell me. Or Marlene, or Mary, you know. If you don’t want to tell your mates.” Remus freezes and looks up at her. Lily has continued writing so as not to give him a long stare to try to draw out all his inner feelings, the way James likes to.

“Er… nothing’s wrong, though, but thanks.” She looks up at him with raised eyebrows.

“You know, last year, my roommate Moira was starving herself-”

“No!” Remus cuts her off, shocked and embarrassed. This must be a testament to the bravery that had sorted Lily promptly into Gryffindor, and Remus wonders if he’s a coward because he can’t for the life of him ever imagine bringing up a topic  _ this  _ embarrassing to one of his friends. It’s the part of him that would rather die than willingly pursue conflict with people he loves, and his face turns red as Lily watches him, obviously expecting him to say more. 

“I’m not...” he looks around before lowering his voice to a near whisper, “...  _ starving _ myself. I’m a boy!” He adds and Lily scoffs like that changes anything.

“You look like you have! I haven’t seen you eat anything all week, you always look like you’re going to pass out, and you haven’t looked properly happy since… well, since I dunno. Too long to think back on.” She frowns at him in an oddly motherly way. “You definitely didn’t have energy at Sirius’s party.”

“I’m  _ ill _ .” Remus protests. This much is true. “I just- I get sort of nauseous, you know? So it makes it difficult to eat and I would if I  _ could,  _ really, but I can’t.” Lily looks at him. “I mean I  _ do  _ eat! At least once a day, like! I’ve been thinking of, I, well I’m  _ going  _ to ask Madam Pomfrey if she has anything that could help.”

“That’s a good idea.” Lily looks pleased to know that he’s changed his entire plan in the middle of a sentence due to the watchful nature of her gaze, and he gives her a weak smile that isn’t returned. “Is your mum alright, then?” Jesus, Remus has easily forgotten that everyone but the marauders thinks his mum is dying with cancer, and the best he can do is shrug halfheartedly. 

“She’s off and on, you know. A little better.” Now, Lily is doing that thing that James does where she tries to hold his gaze and extract more information from him, but Remus hates lying and instead looks anywhere but at her. She sighs in that disappointed way that girls do so well, and then goes back to her notes. She tried, at least. That’s more than he can say for some people.

**s**

Severus Snape hates the marauders. Not that he knows they call themselves that, but he hates them as people- the idea of James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and… well. Severus doesn’t hate Remus with the same vengeance as he does the rest of them, but he knows full well that Remus aids in planning their awful pranks and has stood by many a time to watch Severus fall prey to their tirades and torture.

The thing is, Severus has felt like an outcast his whole life. Growing up in the dirty village of Cokeworth, he had been teased relentlessly by other kids in the village about his shabby clothes, about his big nose, about his drunk of a father and the way he remained essentially friendless except for Lily Evans, and did she even count if it was a friendship based out of pity? 

_ Was _ it a friendship based out of pity?

Severus had come to realize that it hadn’t been after years of being friends with Lily. She was genuinely a good person with a kind heart and the best intentions in mind, and she had formed an unlikely bond with Severus when they were children- having grown up attending primary school together and spending long grey afternoons hanging about on rusty playground equipment or taking long walks down the polluted river in the rain. There’s a solace in the muggle world when it comes to spending time with Lily, because neither of them are special there. They’re just two ordinary kids. But at Hogwarts, prejudices take greater weight than back at home, and Severus had been both horrified and a little grateful when some Slytherins in his year finally began talking to him.

Of course, it’s taken three years for him to even begin to start making friends. His talent for potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and his clear rivalry with two of the most popular boys in Gryffindor had put the spotlight on Severus, and he had been sitting alone at breakfast one day, reading the newspaper when he was approached by Corban Yaxley, Evangeline Snyde, and Carnelian Selwyn. The three of them had sat down at the table and engaged Severus in an easy, if not somewhat awkward conversation. 

He didn’t know why they had chosen that day in September to sit down and talk to him, but they were friendly enough and sought him out in classes so Severus stuck by them, finding a form of refuge in finally having someone to talk to at school other than the occasional acquaintance in class and, of course, Lily Evans. But his new friends don’t like Lily. They don’t like any muggleborns, and Severus was constantly berated about being friends with the ‘mudblood’, enough that the Hogsmeade weekend had been painful for him since Evangeline and some of her girlfriends had been smirking at him in the street while he window-shopped with Lily. 

And he had felt guilty and ashamed for being seen with her, and then double those emotions after getting butterbeer dumped on him because he had hurt his best friend.

She hadn’t talked to him for a while after that, which he supposed he had deserved. Winter had crept up on the school before Lily started hovering by his table after class in potions to talk to him again and stopping by to chat to him in the halls. But after a particularly grueling potions class, it isn’t Lily who hesitantly approaches his table, it’s Lupin.

Severus and Remus had stopped their weekly tutoring sessions after exams the previous year, and when school had started again in the fall, Lupin didn’t so much as look at him in the halls or give him the same familiar half smiles he did the previous year. Severus hadn’t taken it personally or mourned the loss of their strange friendship, convincing himself that he didn’t like Lupin at all in the first place. 

But today, Severus feels a rush of pity for the boy. He looks like death on his feet- with milky pale skin, dark circles under his reddish eyes, and his hair greasy and lank.

“Hiya, Severus,” he says weakly, surprising Severus by using his first name.

“Lupin.” He replies, packing away his cauldron. Lupin’s friends have left the classroom (Severus looks around to check), and he shifts on his feet uncomfortably in front of Severus’s worktable. 

“I… er… well, I was wondering if you could help me. Brew a potion.” 

“Which one?” Severus is done packing up now and stands on the other side of the table, looking at Lupin’s tired form. 

“Wideye.”

“That one’s not hard,” Severus explains, but Lupin shrugs all the same.

“I’ll muck it up if I try to make it, and it’s for me, so I want it to work.” He definitely looks like he could use more sleep, not less, but Severus doesn’t pry. 

“Well…” Severus starts, thinking about how easy the potion is, and how they’ve got a free period next, and how Lupin’s giving him a wide-eyed, desperate look. “Fine, alright then. It’ll take about a day to brew, though.”

“That’s fine,” Lupin responds, a small and relieved smile forming on his face. “Thank you so much.”

“Sure, fine.” Severus responds, looking at his freshly cleaned cauldron. “You’re staying here, though. I’ll teach you to do it, and you can clean my cauldron out when it’s finished.”

“Deal.” Lupin says, walking around to the other side of the table and sitting down on the chair next to Severus, who hadn’t been expecting the other boy to be so readily agreeable. “Shall we get started?”

**s**

Sirius Black is miserable at having to go home over Christmas break. He and his mum had directed a string of nasty letters back and forth to each other, with the verdict being that he was a naive disappointment who deserved nothing good from the world and would more certainly be coming home over break. 

So Sirius spends the remaining days at Hogwarts feeling glum and unhappy. Lily and Peter’s Christmas cheer serve to make him more easily put off, and although James seems to be having a grand time of life, like he always does, seeing everyone else in a good mood only worsens Sirius’s, and he spends time shut up in the dormitory with Remus, happy to have someone else to complain to.

Whinging never does any good, though. 

Before he knows it, Sirius is back on the Hogwarts Express to King’s Cross feeling shaky and anxious about having to see his parents again, knowing his strongly worded letters have upset his mum and that she’ll be hanging them over his head for the whole two weeks. If he’s lucky, maybe she’ll punch him up again and he can cry to James and go stay at the Potter’s house, like last year. Wishful thinking, he knows.

Remus falls asleep on the train while Peter and James carry on a conversation about their extended families. Sirius sits across from Remus, the window seat, and crosses his arms over his chest while staring out the window, watching dismal Scotland fade into dismal England as they travel south. 

And so it goes. James hugs a generally unwilling Sirius and tells him to call (then laughs, because imagine having a phone sit in your pocket and be able to call it someone at any time, how futuristic!) if he needs anything. Sirius fingers the mirror in his pocket and tells James that he will, though it makes him feel like a nuisance to even have to admit it. Sirius feels like a sweaty, unhappy burden and descends shakily onto the platform where he spots his parents socializing with some other family- Slytherins and purebloods and things that Sirius selfishly wishes he isn’t.

Regulus is already standing with Walburga and Orion, smiling as he talks to the father of a boy in Sirius’s year, but not in his house. James and Peter and Remus are all with their families and Sirius stands alone for a moment on the platform, watching everyone else with their big happy families and wondering if he’ll ever have a real place to call home, or a real person to love and call his family. His real family.

Not his father’s eyes that pass over his eldest son whose grey eyes cry out in silent distress, or his brother’s cold face when he has to choose between allying himself with his older brother or being the perfect son, or his mother’s words of venom that creep deep into Sirius’s skin and make him feel like cutting it off so no one has to look at him- know him- so he can remain nameless and faceless and no one forever.

His parents barely talk to him on their walk back to Islington, instead congratulating Regulus on his high marks and saying good things about the friends he’s made while Sirius scuffs his feet on the sidewalk in the background, feeling familiar pangs of jealousy and wishing that he was anywhere else. 

At home, Regulus heads upstairs to his room and Sirius is itching to follow him, but instead is held back by his mother. She shouts at him for at least twenty minutes about how upset she was at the language he used in his letters and how he wrongfully assumed she wouldn't want him to come home and spend Christmas with the family. Sirius has no fightback and stands in the entryway, taking all of it and internalizing all the anger and disgust from his mother. He locks it tightly in his chest and collapses upstairs on his bed in the attic when the fight is over, already exhausted. 

He attends dinner the first night home and gets into such a fight with his mum that he skips it the next day and is then dragged downstairs by Walburga, screaming at him all the way down and saying that he doesn’t skip meals unless he’s permitted. The night after that, he’s banned from the kitchen and goes to sleep hungry. Sirius walks on eggshells and isn’t sure how to act or what to do to please his mum properly because nothing he does ever works and she’s always in a different mood. 

One day, she tells him to clean up the cellar and makes sure that he knows the Lestranges are coming over for tea at six o’clock sharp. Sirius spends all day cleaning muck and grime off of the dank and moldy walls of the cellar, not knowing any domestic cleaning spells and having to do it all by hand. He finishes around 5:30 and stands halfway down the stairs to admire his work. The walls have lost their fuzzy, wet texture of mold but now the cellar just seems overwhelmingly cold and still stinks of dank and rot. No one ever goes down to it anyways, and Sirius just knows his mother had assigned him to clean it up as a means to get him out of her way and doing something that he’d rather not.

He trudges tiredly back up the stairs, wiping his dirty hands on his faded old t-shirt which is stained with grease and soap. Sirius is sure he looks a proper disaster, and is so tired from the repetitive motions of cleaning and being on his feet for hours on end, he hardly notices the voices from the drawing room. 

And walks right through it to see Roderick and Amabel Lestrange sitting across from Walburga and Orion. Their sons Rabastan and Rodolphus are there as well, as is Bellatrix. Regulus sits next to her on the sofa and stares over his mug of tea in dismay at the sight of his bedraggled older brother. In fact, all of them are staring at Sirius.

“Hello!” He exclaims as he wanders into their vision, surprised that they’re a half hour early. “Sorry for this,” he gestures down at his dirty clothes, “I wasn’t expecting you until later. It’s humble work to clean a house!” Walburga’s eyes are like ice but Sirius tries to keep a friendly smile on his face.

“Sirius, go get changed.” She snaps and Sirius obeys immediately, but not before performing a jaunty little bow. He washes up quickly, cursing the Lestranges for being so bloody early, and rushes back down to the living room. There’s no tea set out for him and no one’s left any space to sit, so he draws up a chair from the kitchen and sits at the edge of the ring of plush dark chairs and sofas that everyone else is sitting at.

Amabel asks how his year has been, and the only thing that Sirius can think to say that won’t make his parents furious is to do with Quidditch.

“I made keeper for Gryffindor this year, which is exciting. We, er,” he steals a glance at Regulus who watches him straight faced, “won our first match this year.” 

“Congratulations!” Amabel says, smoothly ignoring the topic of who they beat, since everyone knows the first match of the year is always Gryffindor against Slytherin.

“Quidditch is a dirty sport, in my opinion.” Walburga says, wrinkling her nose. “There’s better ways to spend your time.” 

“I agree.” Roderick says, looking with pride at his two sons. “The boys never got too interested in it, thankfully. They had better things to worry about. Rodolpus was a champion dueler, as was Bella here.” Bellatrix nods proudly and tilts her head up. The families get to talking politics and Sirius falls back, feeling unable to discuss the topics of dirty mudbloods and how they should be cleansed from society when one of his best mates is a half blood and he’s practically dating a muggleborn. 

As their little party wears on, Walburga tells Sirius and Regulus to clean up the tea and bring out some of the dishes that Kreacher had prepared. In the kitchen, Regulus drops the collection of saucers that he’s stacked all the way up his arm and him and Sirius jump as they crash to the floor in a disaster of broken china. 

“Ah, christ!” Regulus whisper-shouts as he drops to the floor, vanishing the china in a way that Sirius sort of wishes he hasn’t. He could have mended the dishes, but Regulus had moved too fast to think about a proper solution. “Whoops?” He offers, looking back up at a tight lipped Sirius.

“Dunno if she heard,” Sirius responds in a low voice, gesturing with a shrug of his shoulder back towards the drawing room. “Just don’t mention it.” They don’t, for the rest of dinner, but Sirius is cornered by his mother after the Lestranges leave.

“I heard things breaking in the kitchen and half of my good china is missing,” she tells her sons with her hands on her hips, glaring down at them. Sirius and Regulus glance at each other, but Regulus doesn’t look like admitting defeat anytime soon. “Sirius, you wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would you?” Sirius takes a long look at Regulus, whose blue eyes are fixed squarely on the floor. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Walburga snaps.

“I think the plates fell…” Sirius meets her gaze evenly, at least, and that infuriates her even more.

“You’re telling me they  _ fell _ ?” Walburga and Sirius are having a wordless battle, and Sirius tilts his chin up defiantly.

“Yes.”

“So you want to go breaking my belongings and then lying to my face? Do you care at all about smashing  _ my  _ things, under  _ my  _ roof? Do you want a dog dish, Sirius? Don’t want to use cutlery anymore?”

“No.” Sirius mumbles.

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Walburga looks him up and down with disdain. “And showing up in the middle of tea looking like a house elf- how mortifying for me! You were thirty minutes late! You’re an embarrassment.” Finally, Sirius stops holding his tongue.

“You said they were coming at six!”

“I said no such thing! I told you they were coming at five! Do not accuse me of lying, you wretched boy!” Sirius stares at her openmouthed, knowing with  _ certainty  _ that she had told him six o’clock. “And five thirty comes and you turn up, filthy and disgusting. The cellar is still not up to my standards, so I’d like you to try cleaning it again tomorrow.  _ Better _ .”

“Mother-”

“Oh!” She continues, obviously not having finished. “And don’t bother to ask about your New Years’ party, you won’t be attending one of those again. I can’t stop you from choosing brainless friends at school, but when you’re living here, you won’t be attending parties full of filthy mudbloods and vile blood traitors.” Sirius feels his heart sink into a deep dark place in his chest. “Now go to your room. I expect you to be down in the cellar before nine, or there will be consequences. You’re a disappointment.” 

Walburga always gets the last word, and she always knows just how to drive the point home. 


	34. [YR 3] Rusting

**_1974_ **

_ i am not the man you want me to be _

_ i’m not a warrior- i am fragile, i am weak _

_ i’m not you, i’m barely me _

**r**

Breakfast time starts as a very loud occasion for the Lupins on January 2nd. 

Hope had been overwhelmed by the crowd at the Potters’ and had spent most of the night putting away glasses of Dragon Barrel Brandy to make the situation a little easier, but is now nursing a deadly hangover and doesn’t eat, just sips her tea over a pale face while listening to her husband and son fight.

Remus had enjoyed the party fine, enjoying seeing James and Peter but had missed Sirius. James had told him privately that Sirius’s mum was being worse than ever and Sirius had been permanently banned from gatherings at the Potters’, which was a definite shame since the boy loves crowds and attention and parties. 

But this morning, he had descended the stairs to hear the familiar sounds of his parents arguing. Though both of them had quieted with guilty looks over at their son, and Remus had understood that something was wrong, and that it had to do with him.

“What’s wrong?” He had asked, quickly spying the newspaper and making a grab for it. Lyall had snatched the paper back and above his head in a familiar way. Remus had tried to grab it from above his father’s head but Lyall had then turned away and grabbed his wand, making to vanish the paper but Remus had finally seized it and taken a good look at the bolded headline on the front page.

WEREWOLF ATTACK IN SHROPSHIRE LEAVES TWO DEAD AND ONE GRAVELY INJURED 

Lyall doesn’t try taking the paper from Remus anymore. He sits down at the table with a hopeless expression while Remus reads the article from front to back in a solemn silence, leaving both of his parents waiting to see what his reaction will be. Sure, maybe he spends a little  _ too  _ long reading it just to get them anxious, but when he lowers the paper, his eyes are hurt and worried.

“You didn’t want me seeing this?” He asks Lyall brazenly.

“We didn’t want to upset you.”

“Right, and physically keeping this away from me would do that. Because god forbid I hear that werewolves are killing people an hour away from here.” A ringing silence fills the kitchen. “Because two people died, and if the last one lives, they’ll turn out just like me, and you don’t like thinking about that, do you?” 

“Remus, I don’t want to fight-”

“I don’t care what you want! You didn’t want me to see this, but now I have, and what can I do about it? Nothing! I can just sit and feel worse about the fact that I’m a fucking monster who has the potential to kill people just like they did, and you feel bad because you hate the fact that I’m a fucking monster and also, lest we forget, that it’s your fucking fault!”

“Don’t swear at me,” Lyall says coldly, standing up to face his son. “I didn’t think you would want to read about it-”

“Because you can think for me, now? Because it’s mature to vanish the fucking newspaper because  _ you  _ think  _ I  _ wouldn’t want to see it? And who the hell are you to do that?”

“Your father!” Lyall shouts, making Hope wince, but he doesn't notice. Neither does Remus. “Whose roof you live under, whose money buys your food! I’m the one who has to worry about you and it’s unfair for you to be angry at me because that could have been you last night, that could have been  _ you  _ out there!” 

“Because it’s oh-so embarrassing to have a fucking werewolf for a son, isn’t it! Feel sorry for yourself, go on, I’m sure it’s tough for you. I’m sure it’s hard.” The two of them have closed in on each other with the rabid, raw anger of wild animals and Remus’s eyes burn as he looks at his father, hating the way he sees his own face staring back at him- the same fiery eyes, same crooked nose, same furrowed brow. Remus hates his dad’s face as much as he hates his own.

“I’ve moved all over this bloody country to protect you! I work a shit job at the ministry, your mum’s work is uprooted every time we leave, and we’re living a miserable life, don’t you see? It’s not just hard for you!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Remus screams. He’s angry. He’s really fucking angry. “I don’t feel bad for you! Try  _ me,  _ try transforming every month and it hurts so bad that you’d rather  _ die,  _ fucking try  _ that!  _ I don’t care about your shite job, this all happened because of you! You brought this upon yourself, you stupid fucker!” 

Lyall hits him before Remus can. Hope stands up so fast that her teacup shatters on the floor and Remus takes a step back, cradling his bleeding mouth. 

“Lyall-!” She shouts, unheard by them both. Remus swings back, not one to back down, but his punch is weak and barely grazes his father’s cheek. So Remus throws himself at him, shoving him backwards and into the kitchen, aiming weak blows at his head and boxing at him. Hope shrieks in indignation and grabs Remus by the shoulders, heaving him backwards and screaming all the while.

“Go!” She shouts, shoving Remus behind her. “Lyall- go! Get out, get out of this house!” 

“Hope-”

“Fuck off, you stupid fucking bastard!” Remus shouts over his mum’s shoulder, turning and storming into the living room. His lip is bleeding and his chest aches because his dad hates him and he grabs his coat from the entryway, pulling his shoes on as quick as he can. “I’ll fucking go!”

“Remus-” Hope pleads, caught in between her warring husband and son, but Remus slams the door hard enough to hear something inside the house shatter. He doesn't care. He storms down the street, cuts on his shoulders aching from where his mum grabbed him, mouth bleeding and pulsing with pain. It’s raining softly and Remus doesn’t notice it until he kicks a metal bin in the street, crying out with the pain of mashing his toes against the metal, and then he screams out his frustration into the freezing air, not caring if anyone hears him. 

The pain is mapped all over his body- toes aching, face throbbing, shoulders stinging. Heart breaking, or something of the sort. Remus doesn’t know where to go. He blinks tears and rain out of his eyes and wanders a block over, to Sion’s house. It’s freezing cold and the rain drenches him right to the bone, so he’s happy to see Sion’s familiar, friendly face on the other side of the door.

“Alright, Remus? What’s up?” Sion takes one look at Remus and steps back to let him in. Remus would rather wander the streets and light up, maybe, smoke a cigarette and talk about mundane things- but it’s freezing out and Sion’s small house is warm enough. So Remus comes in. Sion takes him upstairs to his bedroom, which is covered in muggle posters. There’s blue and white posters of the football team in Broughton, some photos of family and friends, and some torn magazine pictures of musicians.

“You’re bleeding.” Sion says, and Remus touches his lip.

“Yeah.” 

“One mo’.” Sion disappears down the tiny hallway of his house while Remus sinks down unconsciously onto his bed, looking around at the unmoving pictures on the walls. There’s a photo of Sion, Joseph, and Remus from the previous summer tacked up near the bed. They look happy. They look frozen in time and they look like different people. 

“Who’s that, then?” A somewhat familiar face peeks into the bedroom. It’s Sion’s older brother who helped Remus buy his bike last year. He looks a lot like his younger brother, but is broader and has a squarer face. “Remus, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Remus has forgotten his name and weakly waves a bloody hand.

“Owen, butt.” He supplies.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright. You’re okay?”

“He will be,” Sion interrupts, shoving his older brother out of the way. He’s holding a damp washcloth and shuts the door on his brother’s face. Owen laughs good naturedly on the other side of the door. Sion ignores him and instead sits down next to Remus on the bed, holding up the cloth to his mouth in a close and affectionate gesture. Remus looks into his dark eyes and feels an odd spark in his chest that he likens to their closeness and the way Sion’s holding the cloth against his lip, like he’s being kind and helping a friend in need.

Remus puts his hand over his friend’s to take the cloth and Sion shifts away from him, ending the sudden, strange encounter as soon as it had started. 

“What happened, like?”

“Got into a row with my dad.” Remus responds, rolling and cracking his jaw. 

“He really took you up.” Sion gives the bruise on Remus’s face a thoughtful look and Remus doesn’t tell him that he gave that one to himself by throwing himself into the wall of the cellar when he was a wolf. No, that topic doesn’t come up.

“I got my fair share with him,” Remus laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Cachgi.” 

“Ah, same as mine.” Sion snorts knowingly and crosses his legs, leaning back on his arms. “Bad Christmas?”

“Would’ve been better somewhere else.”

“Yeah, felt. When are you back at school?” 

“Few days from now, I can’t wait.” The thing is, Remus  _ can  _ wait. He doesn’t want to go to school, and he doesn’t want to go home, and he doesn’t even particularly want to sit on Sion’s bed and bleed into his washcloth and feel like a burden. He doesn’t really want to be anywhere. 

“I didn’t even know you were back, butt. Should’ve stopped by before, like.” Sion seems genuine about this and Remus looks up at him with a frown. He didn’t know Sion had missed him much at all.

“Sorry, then. You’ve got me for the next few, yeah?” Sion smiles familiarly.

“Yeah.”

**l**

Lily’s holidays rank marginally better than the weeks Sirius or Remus spent at home, but she still doesn’t enjoy them the way she did when she was a kid. As a little girl, Christmas held sort of a magical cheer. Lily believed in Father Christmas for a good few years and would hang a stocking at the foot of her bed on Christmas Eve while talking excitedly with Petunia about all the presents they were so excited to receive. 

Sometimes there were nativity plays put on at school, or winter concerts as they got older. There would be Yorkshire puddings and Christmas pudding and tangy mince pies, and Christmas trees done up with gaudy homemade ornaments. The Evans family would gather around the telly on Christmas Day to hear the Queen’s Speech, and always discuss it afterwards. 

In 1973, they watched the Queen speak and they were also shown footage of Princess Anne getting married. In their shared bedroom that night, Petunia and Lily had talked at length about marriage and boys and the future, and then Petunia had asked about Severus. 

“You haven’t visited him at all over the holidays.” Petunia had noted. They were lying in their separate beds across the room in the darkness, but were both wide awake and attentive. 

“We had a row,” Lily mumbled quietly. “Haven’t really made up properly.”

“What about?”

“He’s embarrassed of me.” Lily had replied. She had felt bitter and regretful and gone back to school to buy him a set of clear, shining multicolored phials to give him as a birthday present. It had been a really and truly awful disaster of a gifting. 

Lily had spent the day trying to work up the courage to break through the ring of pureblooded, sallow faced Slytherins that have slowly but surely taken on surrounding Severus as the year wore on, and had finally talked herself up during dinnertime. 

“Where are you off to?” Mary had asked. Her, Lily, and Peter were eating together. Potter and Black had dragged Marlene off to a Quidditch practice in the frozen weather, and Remus had evidently found himself elsewhere. Lily had tried talking to Peter about him, still worried about his appalling eating habits, but Pete was as clueless as anyone about Remus having any problems. 

“He’s just sickly, you know.” Peter had told her earnestly but dismissively. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” If Peter had known anything else, he had been too good a liar for Lily to get around, and she had let the subject rest at last. Besides, she had been too fussed about how to show Severus that she had forgiven him for that day at Hogsmeade. 

“It’s Sev’s birthday,” Lily had told Mary quietly, rolling her eyes at the retching gesture that her friend made. “Don’t be so rude, I’ve got a present for him.”

“Oh, so sweet of you.” 

“I’ll be back.” Lily had told them firmly, knowing that Peter and Mary had been gossiping up a storm behind her back as she strode across the Great Hall. Severus had caught sight of her as she passed the Ravenclaw table and his eyes had grown wider and wider as she had approached, until it became evident that there was no hiding from Lily Evans. 

There was a girl on one side of him, and she sneered at Lily as though she was a disgusting animal rather than another human being. Lily ignored her and the two other friends of his, one that she knew as Corban Yaxley, who was in her Charms class and was almost as good as she was at the subject.

Almost.

“Happy birthday, Sev!” Lily said in an attempt at a friendly voice, holding out the box that she’d wrapped the phials in. Severus looked like he could die on the spot and took the box from her as his face flushed multiple splotchy colors.

“Thanks, Lily.” He had responded in a strangled sort of voice, taking the package from her. And then Lily had stood there in the resoundingly uncomfortable silence while looking at her old friend. His friends stared up at her with incredulous gazes, with  _ disgusted  _ faces, and Lily had felt her face heat up with embarrassment as Severus continued to not look at her.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes and Lily had felt millions of unspoken words crawling up her throat, wanting more than anything to escape the clutches of her throat and reprimand the bloody  _ ridiculous  _ boy she had wasted her own money on. 

And then she had nothing to say to him. She had strode back across the hall, face heating up and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. They hadn’t spoken since then. So when Lily’s fourteenth birthday rolled about in late January, exactly three weeks after Severus’s, the last thing she had been expecting was a gift from him. 

But Severus was always a surprise.

Lily had insisted to her friends that she be allowed a lie in on her birthday. On Wednesdays, all her friends except her have Care of Magical Creatures first thing in the morning so she doesn’t have class until eleven, and had slept in and eaten a peaceful breakfast by herself in the Great Hall with a book propped open in front of her on a jug of milk. Then she had been disturbed.

“Lily.” It’s Severus, of course it is, and he had crept up on her so silently that she nearly spilled her glass of juice onto the book.

“Hi, Sev, you surprised me!” She’s so surprised, in fact, that she’s forgotten all about being angry with him. He sits down next to her without invitation and sticks a great big purple record on the table.

“Happy birthday,” he tells her sort of stupidly, gesturing at the record. “I thought you might like this.” The only word on the record is QUEEN and Lily runs her hands along it anxiously, wondering what on earth Severus is doing with pop records. “I’m sorry.” He adds jerkily, as though he’s got a lot to say but doesn’t know how to say it. “And I’d like to try Hogsmeade again, on Saturday, if you haven’t got other plans because I’ll buy you a proper drink and properly apologize because I’ve been acting so shite and I owe you an apology.”

Christ, a real and true apology from Severus Snape. It sounds as though it had torn him apart to even get the words out, but now that Lily’s heard them, she feels as though everything has changed. 

“Sev, I-” Lily starts, but is cut off just at the right time by a well timed shriek from Mary MacDonald that’s followed by an off-key rendition of ‘happy birthday’ that’s sang loudly by Mary, Marlene, and Peter, all of them bundled up and windswept from coming in off the grounds. “Oh, god.” Lily whispers. Severus looks up at the three of them and staggers out of the bench, his long limbs getting tangled in it.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Severus mutters and nearly runs out of the hall, even though Potter and Black aren’t part of the approaching group. The badly sung song ends and Mary envelops Lily in a crushing hug from behind, arms around her shoulders in an expression of affection and warmth that Lily loves. Mary is an affectionate type person and is always holding hands or hugging or wrapping her arms around someone, letting them know just how much she appreciates them through wordless physical contact.

Marlene isn’t like that, not really. She doesn’t hug Lily at all but her cheeks are pink and she tells her happy birthday like usual, eyes flickering up and down Lily’s face. Peter gives her a chocolate frog and asks to see the record on the table, showing it to Remus, who had wandered in behind them. 

Lily hugs Remus because he looks like he could use one, and he gives as good as he gets. He smells like stale cigarettes and cinnamon and he whispers happy birthday into her hair and she understands why Marlene likes him so much. He has a way of making you feel like you’re the only person in a crowded room. Just in a personal way. Lily wouldn’t ever consider him more of a friend but Remus is friend shaped and kind and though there are dark circles on his ever so gaunt face, he still smiles genuinely.

“Oi, Evans, can I get a hug?” The jaunty shout makes both Remus and Lily leap away from each other, red faced for no good reason at all. Potter and Black have arrived and strut through the hall, Potter looking at Lily expectantly as though she’ll be taking her into his arms anytime soon. 

“As if!” She tells him dismissively, tilting her chin up. Potter gives her a dramatic look of disappointment but Lily ignores him to the best of her ability, linking arms with Mary and Marlene as they walk to Defense Against the Dark Arts, which they take with the Hufflepuffs. Dorcas meets them and Lily’s qualms about Severus are forgotten and replaced with annoyance as Potter talks loudly and unabashedly to Black about Quidditch, of all things. He’s a stupid jock and every time his dark eyes fall on Lily, with that half quirked smile on his face, she wonders why he’s got his eyes on her instead of his Ravenclaw girlfriend. 

It doesn’t make her feel any better. 

After lunch, they have a double period of Potions where Lily enjoys herself greatly, happy to participate in a subject that she fully understands. But then the day changes, because Marlene’s worked her way into a detention from mucking up the Quidditch rota in order to give Gryffindor more practice. Potter is incredibly pleased with the effort she’s showing for the team, and Marlene doesn’t seem too upset about having to spend her afternoon polishing the Slytherin’s broom handles.

“I’ll add some spit to the polish,” she tells Black as she leaves the common room, grinning wickedly as he laughs out loud. Lily leans back against the wall, watching the blonde girl take her leave. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew are engaged in a serious conversation while Remus had disappeared back to the dorms. Mary sits next to Lily and looks at her expectantly.

“What?” Lily asks.

“It’s your birthday, duh, aren’t we going to have some fun? Party, or something?” 

“No one’s planned anything…” Lily isn’t much for being the center of attention and prefers to spend the day in her own quiet way with people she likes to be around, like Mary. 

“Didn’t Snape get you a record? We should give it a spin.” It’s a good enough idea, but Marlene’s record player is up in the dorms and it’s a dastardly complicated piece of wizarding machinery that neither Lily or Mary know how to work. Marlene barely lets them touch it- she’s always the one to operate it. Lily’s family has a record player at home, but the muggle ones are evidently built differently than the wizarding types. 

“We don’t have a player to use.” Mary shrugs as though this isn’t anywhere near enough a good excuse to use.

“Oi, Potter!” She calls loudly, attracting the boy’s attention right away. “You have a record player, don’t you? Lily needs to borrow it.” Potter grins almost maniacally, his eyes oddly bright. 

“Oh, grand, Evans, we can go get Remus down here.” He springs to his feet and picks across the room to offer two hands to Lily, still seated and looking at him skeptically. “Up you get!” She puts her pale hands in his brown ones, and is lifted to her feet. Potter’s not too tall, and she stands nearly the same height as him, close enough to see the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles and the untidy hair falling over his glasses and into his eyes. 

Potter rumples said hair as he drops her hand and walks back across the common room, gesturing up the stairs to the boy’s dorms.

“Er, can’t you just bring it down?” Lily asks dumbly, trying to play down the stubborn blush on her face. 

“I’ll need a hand.” Potter says and starts up the stairs while Lily awkwardly follows behind. She pushes open the door that Potter cracks behind him and looks around the dormitory, golden in the afternoon light. Remus is lying on a bed in the half of the room that looks like a tornado has run through. There’s records splayed all over the floor, books piled up in small towers, and notebooks as well as quills splayed everywhere. Remus is propped up on his elbows, reading a book, and looks up with raised eyebrows as Lily enters the dorm.

“Hiya,” she tells him, glancing at the bed opposite his, which has to be Sirius’s. There’s muggle diagrams of motorbikes tacked up on the walls, plenty of Gryffindor paraphernalia, and some photos of him and his friends. Lily catches sight of herself in one of the photos, one from Sirius’s twelfth birthday, and she feels an odd twist in her stomach to see herself up there. 

Potter’s corner is oddly neat. Almost  _ too  _ neat. 

“Like what you see, Evans?” He asks her as he gestures around the dorms.

Lily frowns at him wordlessly, finding it best to ignore him. “You’re quite messy, Remus,” she tells the boy, who shrugs carelessly. He closes his book and sits up properly, looking at the two of them with an expectant expression. “Oh, we just needed Potter’s record player. I got a vinyl for my birthday, wanted to listen.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Remus says, tossing the book back onto his unmade bed. “Which one?”

“A band called Queen? It’s their first record, but I think they’re sort of poppy.”

“Grand, that’ll be fun.” He says, looking a little more enthused.

“Player’s over here,” Potter interrupts, gesturing at the big box on the floor by his bed. Lily crosses the room to Potter’s well organized side and leans down to help him pick up the player. Remus slides off his bed and follows down the stairs behind them, which Lily is glad for. She’s far too close to Potter for comfort and his flickering brown eyes glint warmly at her as they stagger down the stairs with the wide, heavy box between them.

Lily tells herself she hates the oddly triumphant look on Potter’s face as they set up the player in their corner of the common room. And in the end, it’s easy to hate. He’s too confident, so big headed, and shamelessly cocky. Lily tells herself she’s glad when Hyatt Ibex approaches them and wishes her a happy birthday with a big grin on his handsome face, and she is. She tells herself that the look on Potter’s face isn’t jealousy, it can’t be, and if it is- fine, then. He always gets what he wants, but not this time. 

Lily’s not interested. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i’m being honest (and i always am!) i love david thewlis. i think he was the Perfect Person to play lupin in the films and when i imagine young remus, i just think of young him. (same w/ gary oldman!)  
> if you’d like to enjoy a little bit of amazing thewlis having a breakdown, here’s a clip from the movie 'naked' that he starred in and did the best job acting in (even if his character is a total unlikeable sociopath):
> 
> [johnny's meltdown in the street](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTaZFubq1J4)
> 
> (the best bit is at the end so watch it all if ur gonna watch!)


	35. [YR 3] Captive in My Own Bones

_ i’m trying everything i can to help / i’m hurting more than anyone can tell _

_ i just want to love myself  _

**s**

Sirius Black and Mary MacDonald have become somewhat of an item. 

Their relationship had first been spurred by a feeling of jealousy that’s very uncharacteristic to Sirius. He’s the one to be jealous  _ of,  _ not the other way around. But he’s spent the last few years at Hogwarts feeling phantom pangs of envy at stupid things that he had never really thought otherwise of before.

Like James’s parents and the way they treat him as though he’s golden, like he’s the best thing in their lives and the most important person in the world. Sirius wonders what it would be like to have parents that love him, then remembers he’ll never know and tries to push the jealousy down and out of sight. 

Or maybe like the way Peter has tea with his younger sister once a week and shouts her name in the halls when he sees her, the way she looks up to him with the awe of a younger sibling, the way they get along despite it all, the inside jokes they share and they love each other with a bond strong enough to only mean family. Not found family, but real family. Sirius passes Regulus in the halls and his younger brother will avoid eye contact, his all too familiar grey eyes focusing on the ground, or a friend, or something far away so he doesn’t have to be subject to meeting his brother’s desperate gaze.

Or, finally, like the way Remus and Marlene had kissed at the end of first year and began a relationship that sang of young love and being twelve years old with enough bravery to bridge the gap between awkward to something a little more familiar. Sirius remembers early second year, the one time he’s seen Remus cry, when they cornered him about being a werewolf and how he was scared and vulnerable in front of them, just for a moment. 

How Sirius had bridged the gap between their beds and Remus had talked like someone much older, how his golden eyes had glinted as he had shrugged his shoulders and talked about how Marlene thought his scars were  _ sexy,  _ with a phantom confidence that Sirius hardly sees from him. 

Sirius considers things that might be sexy. 

He knows what blokes are  _ supposed  _ to find sexy, like bums and breasts and weird bits of girls that remain enigmatic and mysterious, and he thinks about dark skinned, bright eyed Mary MacDonald and the way she smiles at him. Not necessarily sexy, but charming all the same. 

Sirius had kissed her on his thirteenth birthday as a spur of the moment decision where her face had been very close to his and he had felt the insatiable need to prove himself. Since then, well. They don’t act the same way that Marlene and Remus do, all joined at the hip and talking together all the time, but Mary is good fun and has a sharp wit, so Sirius likes being around her just fine. 

Third year has made their schedules confusing and hard to work around, but both of them decide to bunk off History of Magic on Tuesday afternoon just so they can have some time alone together, which is becoming more and more rare as the school year progresses. Sirius waits on a secret stairwell that Peter had discovered and marked up on his map. Him and Sirius still work on the map as sort of a pet project, continuing to add classrooms and new locations that they haven’t yet seen as they discover more and more about the castle.

Today, Mary’s late. 

Sirius gets stupid anxious when people aren’t on time and wonders dramatically if she’s decided to abandon him, or if she’s run into trouble, or something else that might not make perfect sense because he hates feeling like a last priority. That’s why he loves James so much- he’s endlessly present and always  _ there,  _ eternally where you need him to be and always making sure that you know where you stand on his terms. 

Mary’s a little flighty when it comes to the complicated relationship that she’s developed with Sirius, and he wonders if she had been joking during their morning Herbology lesson when she promised to meet him. She’d promised.

And she doesn’t break her promise, she just shows up twenty minutes late with tears in her eyes. 

“What took you so long?” Sirius asks when she comes into view, springing up off the wall and moving towards her. This is before he realizes that Mary’s in a downright mutinous mood, and her eyes glow with anger and (to his horror) tears. 

“Your stupid bloody brother, that’s what!” Mary cries, pressing the backs of her hands against her eyes and Sirius doesn’t know how to comfort her. 

“Regulus? What did he do? What happened?” He feels nervous now, seeing her swipe madly at her eyes.

“Him and that nasty little  _ cockroach,  _ Barty Crouch Junior, ambushed me!” Sirius wonders briefly if she’s being a bit dramatic. “They got me with a body bind curse and they tried to cut up my arm, look!” She holds out her arm and Sirius sees with a jolt that she is indeed bleeding. The word “MUD” is slashed hastily into her skin and Sirius now feels that Mary isn’t exaggerating at all. “You can tell where they were going with that one,” she growls, forcing her sleeve back down.

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey.” Sirius says worriedly, thinking about the smeary red blood on Mary’s brown skin. It makes him feel ill and faint. He’s not good with blood. 

“It’s not that deep.” Mary says, but it’s weak and she looks incredibly defeated. 

“How did you get away?”

“The curse was piss awful, it wore off in a few seconds because I half deflected it, anyways. I jinxed the both of them and ran.” She breaks eye contact at this and Sirius picks up on her shame, of knowing that she had to run away from his younger brother, armed with a wand and a razor blade. 

“I’m sorry, Mary,” he tells her gently, using her first name instead of her last, and opening his arms up for a hug. She concedes and wraps her own arms around him, sighing against his chest as he holds her tight. It’s then and there that Sirius comes to understand that Regulus won’t get away with this. 

He’ll take his own sort of revenge. 

Remus Lupin is the go-to guy when it comes to prank planning, but he’s sort of hard to find these days. Sirius has his suspicions that Remus has taken to hiding away in secret parts of the school just like him and Mary do, but Remus does it by himself because he’s so often sad and out of sorts. 

So, that evening, Sirius embarks on a good old fashioned Remus hunt when he can’t find his friend in the dormitories or the library. 

He tries classrooms and random doorways as he wanders through the warm wooden hallways of Hogwarts, getting lost more than once and beginning to open doors haphazardly, giving up on caring who might be behind them. Sirius just hopes that he won’t get into another case of two blokes snogging, but he doesn’t. 

He just stumbles upon a huge, unfamiliar room down a rather deserted hallway, a room that he’s never ever seen before. It looks sort of like a common room- with sofas, squashy chairs, and a fireplace. Maybe it’s a lounge? No matter, Sirius can see two bony hands holding a book up from behind a sofa, and pounces around it with a loud “boo!” that gets Remus to drop the heavy book on his chest and let out a squeak of astonishment. 

“ _ Christ,  _ Sirius, don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“Shove over,” Sirius instructs, sitting promptly on Remus’s feet. Remus is wearing gaudy mismatched socks with holes in the bottoms, and he drags his long legs back up to his chest as he sits up. He’s wearing a thick, shapeless jumper and has a half eaten bar of chocolate lying on the sofa next to him. And he looks annoyed, but Sirius pretends not to see the irate expression on his scarred face.

“I need your help. My stupid, bloody disgrace of a brother went and hurt Mary, jinxed her and cut up her arm for being muggleborn and I need revenge. I sort of want to hurt him.” Sirius says. “And I know it sounds awful but  _ he’s  _ awful and that little slime Crouch… he was the one who cut her, really. I want to really get back at them.” Remus looks at him tiredly.

“I really don’t think you should hurt them.” He blinks and then says with a little more force- “I won’t help you hurt them.” Sirius wonders if he should have just turned to James on this one, since he would have been by Sirius’s side no matter what. And here’s Remus Lupin, giving him a lesson on morals. 

“Then what? Play a practical joke? Like that’ll help him learn his lesson?” Remus has the nerve to sigh so heavily that he could be making a perfect impression of McGonagall. Both Remus and Minnie are like walking sighs. “Moony?” Sirius asks, wondering on a scale of one to ten just how annoying he’s being.

“Shh, I’m thinking.” Remus snaps, leaning further back away from Sirius, eyes far away and thoughtful. “We could do Snargaluff pods, I suppose. If you put them in his food, or a drink… they’ll sort of explode in his stomach. They’d send him to the hospital wing for a few days, but it’s nothing deadly. They’ll just make him ill.” 

“I’ve got no clue what those are, but they sound brilliant. How soon can we get them?” 

Soon enough, it turns out. Sirius drags a generally unwilling Remus back up to the dorms to pick up James’s cloak, and then they endure a painful experience wrangling Snargaluff plants in the fifth greenhouse, one that they have never been in before. Sirius tries to make conversation with Remus, but the other boy seems as despondent as ever and is concentrated on the task at hand, which makes sense, given the plant’s sharp thorns that thrash madly when either boy tries to touch them. 

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time they return to the Gryffindor Common room but Sirius doesn’t mind sleepless as long as he can do it with Remus by his side. They have a jar full of Snargaluff pods between them and Sirius gets a moment alone with his friend, so he takes advantage of it.

“Moony, did something happen over break?”

“Hm?” Remus asks tiredly, gazing into the fireplace as a means to avoid eye contact. 

“You’ve just seemed sort of… sort of sad, for a while. All year.” Remus doesn’t answer at first, his brown eyes lit by the dancing flames. Sirius sort of wants to repeat his name, just to get an answer out, but Remus lets out another heavy sigh and says-

“My dad hates me.” 

“Oh.” Remus shrugs offhandedly.

“It’s not so bad, I’ve got my mum and my mates at home, but still. It hurts.”

“I know, Moony. I’m sorry.” Remus glances up at him with a soft look of recognition twisting his face, like he’s realizing he’s not the only one with parents who hate him. Sirius doesn’t push the topic, and Remus doesn’t continue it. Neither of them sleep that night.

**r**

When Valentine’s Day arrives, Remus feels like killing himself because in the haze of his depression, he’s forgotten all about it. He’d spent most all of his money earned from working at the garden centre on fags and has continued to buy them from Caradoc Dearborn, and he comes to assume that Marlene won’t want a smushed packet of cigarettes for the day.

So he pushes through all of the bad, useless feelings that have been hanging over him and begs James to transfigure him a bouquet of sparkling flowers for Marlene. James also suggests transfiguring a little statue of Gryffindor lion into a soft, plush lion. Then Remus sacrifices some of his own chocolate to organize into a little box that James helps him decorate. He supposes he’s scraped together a good enough gift for Marlene, and forces himself to be on his best, happiest behavior all day long.

His effort pays off for one day. Marlene’s birthday is on a Saturday where he’s supposed to drag his sore and battered body down to Hogsmeade, and he wakes up on the morning of February 16th thinking  _ no way _ .

“Moony!” James calls cheerfully, dragging his curtains back while Remus groans dramatically. “Ready for Hogsmeade?” 

“Eugh…” Remus mumbles, turning over and sticking his face back into the pillow, wondering why James is so excited about this. James has proven to be invariably helpful when it comes to doing nice things for girls, even though he fancies Evans and is sort of dating Katie Robinson at the same time, which doesn’t make any sense. Remus isn’t stupid enough to ask him about it, though, because he’ll be in for an earful about the confusing ways of women and their general preposterousness. 

James doesn’t give up, and drags Remus’s blankets off of him, causing Remus to groan even louder. He’d gotten one, maybe two, hours of fitful sleep. Those hours hadn’t been plagued by nightmares, but they were so few that Remus had been hanging on to the peaceful time he had enjoyed asleep. 

He’s been taking doses of the Wideye potion that Severus had helped him brew (or brewed for him, technically). The potion is supposed to make the person taking it more alert, but Remus had been so unbearably tired and depressed that the potion had done the bare minimum and had made him marginally less tired, enough that he can function off of eight hours (more or less) of sleep a week.

“Merlin, Moony, you’re even worse than Sirius in the mornings!” Peter calls, making Remus feel even more dramatically useless. He just feels so  _ heavy,  _ like every step pains him to take, and he’d like to lay in bed forever because the effort it takes to get up is becoming too much for him. 

“Why,” Remus finally croaks, removing his face from the pillow, “are you coming?” He asks James, who’s already dressed and beaming down at him. 

“Sirius and Pete and I are going to check out the Shrieking Shack!” It’s enough of a response to get Remus fully un-involved in the conversation, and he tells the rest of them that he’ll meet them in the courtyard after breakfast rather coldly. His sharp tone and angry demeanor even gets Sirius out of the dormitory, not wanting to fall victim to Remus’s wrath. 

His day gets even worse when he has to change clothes, and he catches a phantom glimpse of himself in the mirror while pulling on his shirt. God, he looks awful. Remus isn’t sure he’s ever looked this pale before in his life, and his skin is an unfortunate milky white color. The scars on his face are puckered and twisted, marring his features. His chest is sunken and bony, even more skeletal than before, and there’s more unhealable, cursed scars settling rigidly over his sharp shoulders. 

Remus hates himself. He stares seriously into the mirror, looking at his awkwardly long, bony limbs and thinks that he’d give anything to be someone else. He wouldn’t mind drinking a sour tasting Polyjuice potion every day to turn into Peter Pettigrew if it meant he wouldn’t have to look like himself. 

This unfortunate, self-pitying start to his morning leads Remus to mope for the majority of Marlene’s birthday, similar to the way he had last year, just without the anger. He can barely keep himself standing straight as they walk around Hogsmeade. His face is flushed with fever and his head swims whenever he walks, like his eyes won’t let him see straight and his legs ache with ghost pains. 

He hears half of everything Marlene says to him and locks himself in the loo at the Three Broomsticks just so he can press his fist between his closed eyes and take deep breaths so he doesn’t start crying. It’s a miserable, awful day. When Remus collapses into bed that night, he wonders if Marlene enjoyed her 14th birthday at all, or if he ruined it the way he ruins everything. 

Remus falls asleep and dreams of killing her. All bloody and stringy, white flesh falling off her long body in chunks, blonde hair tangled between his teeth as he spits to get rid of it. He wakes up sobbing.

The next day, he stays up all night long finishing an Astronomy report, and then finishes two reports for Herbology just to give one to Sirius, and then falls into a rabbit-hole of poetry writing because he’s so keen on not letting himself fall asleep to see Marlene’s corpse torn to shreds and knowing it’s his own fault. The next week goes by in a blur of not sleeping, not eating, and not really wanting to be alive anymore. 

One night on a day of a week that Remus can’t remember, Lily Evans invites him to study for their Ancient Runes test in the common room after dinner. Marlene takes the class too, but has Quidditch practice and Remus is almost glad for that, because he’s been increasingly absent in their relationship- enough to make him feel guilty about it. 

Remus had promised to meet Lily to do Runes work, but skips dinner because the idea of sitting in a room full of the smells of greasy meat and melty puddings would make him sick in an instant. He hasn’t eaten anything today, and had yesterday only stomached an apple and a piece of toast. He lies on his bed through dinner, reading a book, and by 7:30, he assumes Lily must be back and slides off of his bed, wondering how bad of an idea it would be to try to walk downstairs. 

He feels incredibly light headed and every step takes him closer and closer to what feels like fainting- his vision an uncomfortable vignette with dark fuzziness around the edges that won’t go away no matter how hard he blinks. Lying in bed and finishing his book sounds like the best plan right now, but he promised Lily and she’ll get upset with him if he doesn’t show.

So, down he goes, clutching onto the wall as he descends the stairs into the common room. Lily’s playing a game of chess with Alice Fortescue, but has her chin in her hand and seems bored. When Remus shakily descends the stairs, her face brightens as she tells Alice something, probably that they can end the game now. 

Except Remus just really isn’t ready to study. 

He takes a few steps across the common room but sways on the spot, alarmingly, and grabs at the sofa to hold himself up except the sofa is six feet away and the vignette has bolded enough that  _ everything  _ looks black and hazy, and then he collapses. 

Lily and Alice’s loud voices are enough to rouse him after less than a minute of unconsciousness, but his head smarts from banging it on the floor as he fell, and there are tears in his eyes from the sharp throbbing in his head. 

“Remus, Remus! Are you okay? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” Alice is kneeling in front of him, her light brown eyes wide with concern. 

“Three, Alice, I’m fine, ugh, I’m fine…” He sits up and thinks about retching because the pain in his head is so bad, and he wipes the unfortunate tears out of his eyes as Lily kneels next to Alice with a mirrored expression of worry on her face. 

“You fainted, Remus, that’s not okay!” Lily shrieks, and Remus can see some other curious faces in the common room peeking at him. Christ on a cross, this is not what he needs right now.

“I just haven’t… er, _christ,”_ He breaks off, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Black spots dance before his eyes. “I just haven’t eaten today… fucking _hell,_ Lily, I’m so sorry, I’ve got a terrible headache and I’m bloody exhausted.”

“I’ll take you to Madam Pomfrey.” Lily says this in an absolutely no-nonsense voice and attempts to take his arm, but he swats her off.

“I won’t be able to walk-”

“We’ve got some tablets for headaches upstairs,” Alice offers. Her sharp, usually proud face is now soft with worry. “Johnny!” She calls, pointing at a mousy looking second year who’s standing over the sofa and ogling at the scene. “Go to the kitchens and get us some food.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“My boyfriend is head boy, Vankin, and he can give you detention until the end of your  _ life  _ if you disobey!” Johnny disappears and Alice turns her attention back to Remus, who wonders if laughing is an appropriate reaction for the way she treats younger students, as a sixth year who hadn’t even made Prefect. “Remus, you fainted.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He says thickly. Alice rolls her eyes.

“That’s not normal, and that’s not okay. As soon as you're feeling a bit better, you’re going to the hospital wing.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m going to get you some tablets,” she tells him as she gets up and runs up the stairs to her dormitory while Lily sinks from kneeling into a cross legged position. Remus scoots uselessly across the floor to the sofa so he has something to lean against, and closes his eyes as Lily follows him. 

“Remus.” She says, and he wishes that he had just stayed in the dorm and blown her off. “Remus.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m really worried about you.”

“Mmm, that’s understandable.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Well, I just fell down and banged my head so hard on the floor that it probably dented the wood, so, I’m surprised you weren’t laughing. I would have.” Lily sighs disappointedly and Remus gives up on talking to her, just curls against the bottom of the couch and wonders when this pain will end. 


	36. [YR 3] Nothing To Smile About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: graphic descriptions of gore, self harm, and suicidal thoughts/attempted suicide
> 
> i don’t usually feel the need to graphically describe suicide & self harm (which is something ive struggled with personally for years) but i feel like this is just sort of necessary for everyone to understand the shit remus is going through. 
> 
> keep in mind that they’re 13/14 years old and at the peak of angsty, selfish sadness. & don’t read the beginning of this chapter if you don’t feel comfortable! 
> 
> also, the lyric i added is from “peach” by the front bottoms. it’s not necessarily a sad song but i don’t think any lyric ever has better described suicidal ideation than this one. it’s just like sometimes the future is SO hard to see around the sadness you feel in a certain moment & brian sella went and captured that for all of us in two sentences

_ once i finally hit the ground, who’s gonna drag me into the light? it’s just so hard to see tomorrow past tonight _

**r**

Remus can’t sleep. He hasn’t been able to sleep for a while for the nightmares keep getting worse, so he keeps himself awake by using a refilling charm on a mug of coffee he had made much earlier, trying to keep himself stimulated enough to not fall asleep.

The nightmares are reminiscent of the wolf. The full moon had been two nights ago and it had been worse than ever. When Remus does fall asleep, his dreams are filled with screams and howls, and he’s plagued by an obsession of killing the people he loves best. He can’t help seeing Sirius with his neck snapped, his head lolling in a sickly way, barely attached to his body, while Remus tears out his throat. He sees himself ripping James’s leg off and playing with it like a toy, his friend screaming and crying out for mercy, right in front of him. He sees Peter torn to shreds, gruesomely unrecognizable, nothing but a bloody corpse.

These nightmares have made it hard for Remus to focus on anything. He can’t sit down at dinner and glance up to see Sirius sitting across from him, his blue eyes glinting with mischief and fun, without imagining them lifeless and grey in his decapitated head. When he goes down to the Quidditch pitch for a breath of fresh air, he sees James at his happiest, flying through the air fearlessly, and imagines him an amputee, legless, never able to ride a broomstick again. When he plays long games of wizard chess with Peter, he can’t look up at him because he’ll see a horribly disfigured face, eyes gouged out, mouth torn open, nose missing. These thoughts make Remus ill, and once the mental image of Peter had made him be sick.

Tonight, he hugs himself and tries not to cry, holding back waves of tears that put watery pressure on his eyes. He’s always too hot and is sweating badly beneath the bedsheets, his pajamas stuck to him and his body damp with sweat. He could go downstairs and open a window in the common room, read a book and drink his coffee until sunrise, but the thought of having to attend Care of Magical Creatures class in the morning is bad enough that he just buries his face in his pillow, wondering if he could suffocate himself.

This is a bad thought to have, because Remus is suddenly and overwhelmingly suicidal. 

He’s considered suicide before, many times, but tonight it seems so simple and easy and right  _ there  _ that he’s out of bed in an instant, breathing heavily, trying to stay quiet as he tiptoes into the bathroom. 

Turning the light on and having to see himself in the mirror makes Remus feel even worse. He looks pale, sweaty, and washed out. His light brown hair, usually fluffy and wavy, is lank and greasy since he’s been too depressed to even shower, these days. Remus always looks tired, some days more than others, but recently the circles under his eyes have deepened in permanence, and his face is prematurely lined, like he’s thirty three instead of thirteen. 

The scars on his face are the last straw, and Remus finally starts crying, hating his reflection and wanting to smash the mirror in front of him to pieces. He hates himself. His father hates him for what he is and his mother has become frighteningly distant. He remembers winter holidays, him and his father shouting at each other, screaming, his mother crying, how no one had smiled, how no one had said “I love you”, how no one had made up and how everything was wrong.

The future seems impossible to Remus. He’s a werewolf, so he won’t ever get a steady job, no matter how well he does in school. He’ll never find someone to marry because he’s too depressed to keep up with a relationship and he thinks about beautiful blonde Marlene and cries even harder, wondering if someone will ever want to see him naked: scarred, horrific, monstrous.

Remus doesn’t want to go to class tomorrow because there’s no point in having an education if he can’t get a job, Remus doesn’t want to make it the next hour because right now, in the tiny bathroom off their dormitory at Hogwarts, Remus wants it to end.

He picks up a shaving razor from the sink and barely gives it a second look before he rolls up his sleeves and plunges it into his arm. It’s like his arm is made of badly tangled string and the razor cutting through it is untangling everything so the strings are as neat and smooth as the veins and arteries in his arms.

It hurts, but Remus is used to pain, and has learned to find relief in it. He keeps cutting, untangling the string in his arms with a fervor, seeing his crimson blood on the sink, on the floor, on his skin. Remus cuts and cuts and cuts until his arms are both red instead of white and he can’t even see the skin anymore. He’s bleeding heavily. He catches his breath and looks at himself in the mirror, seeing a portrait of a dying boy. 

Arms held out a little ways in front of him like “Look! Look, I’m killing myself, can I get a round of applause for bravery? A hundred points to Gryffindor for Remus fucking Lupin finally doing us all favor and offing himself?”

Dizzy from blood loss and unable to recognize his surroundings, Remus feels a crazy rush of guilt hit him and he leans over the sink, blood everywhere, breath coming in rough gasps. What was he thinking, trying to kill himself? Not saying goodbye, or even thanks, to Sirius, or James, or Peter or Marlene, Mary, Lily, Dorcas- any of them at all? Not even his parents, who had sacrificed so much? This is what he’s doing instead, pulling a selfish, childish prank by cutting open his arms and crying when he still has Care of Magical Creatures in the morning?

The idea of having breakfast and class in a few hours feels surreal to Remus, whose eyes are so swimming with tears that all he can see is blood red, everywhere. He feels so, so sad. He needs help. When he was younger and scared of the dark as a little boy, he would hover outside his parents’ bedroom anxiously, knowing that he was going to wake them up but also knowing that it would upset them, being woken from a comfortable sleep by their son. There was always the worried hesitation, and the plunge of walking into their dark bedroom and whispering “mummy! daddy!” until they woke up.

Now, Remus does the same with James. 

He doesn’t know why he’s chosen James, probably because Sirius would never look at him the same and Peter would end up just waking James anyways. Remus doesn’t even know what he wants. A hug, maybe, someone to cry on and someone to tell him that it’s okay, that his parents  _ do  _ love him and that his life does matter, that being a werewolf isn’t all he is, that it’s okay to be sad and he’ll find someone, one day, who loves him like he’s the whole world, and that there’s a better day coming for him. That there will be a better day.

Remus staggers past James’s curtains and nearly collapses on his bed, half crying, half shoving his friend, feeling crazy and like he’s about to faint.

“Oi…” James says in a muffled voice, rolling over in bed. “Sirius…? I’m sleep… sleeping.” Yet in his brief moment of lucidity, James hears rough crying, and sits up groggily, lighting his wand. “What’s going on?” He spots Remus and his eyes widen in shock. James puts his glasses on and casts a silencing charm before asking-

“Bloody fucking hell Remus, what are you playing at?!” Remus has never heard James swear with that much vigor before and realizes that he’s made his friend angry. James throws back his blankets and moves to sit next to Remus, who feels as though he’s dissolving. “Oh christ, bloody hell, Remus…” James is pressing his bedsheets against Remus’s arms, trying to put pressure on the wounds. 

“‘M so sorry…” Remus sobs, tears openly streaming down his face, unable to wipe his tears as James holds his arms heavily.

“I need to get help.” James says in a panicked voice that he’s obviously trying hard to keep from shaking.

“No! No, no, not Sirius-”

“Not Sirius, okay? Someone who can help you, I don’t know any healing spells, I’m going to get Frank.” Remus thinks of kindly Frank Longbottom, now Head Boy in his seventh year, seeing him in this state.

“Noooo, no, James,  _ please _ .”

“Remus, do you want me to sit here and let you bleed out and die?!” James can’t keep his voice from shaking. “Because you will, if I don’t get help! And that might’ve been your point, but why wake me up?” He shouts, and Remus crumples, ashamed and afraid. “You need to sit here for a  _ minute _ , okay, don’t move, just hold pressure on your arms, okay? I will be right back. I promise.” James doesn’t wait for an okay before he disappears, leaving Remus sitting in the darkness of his four poster, shaking and feeling more and more faint as he fills James’s bed with blood. 

Time seems to be different, now, and it does seem to only take a minute for James to return with Frank in tow. They speak to each other, and to Remus, who is quickly losing consciousness and can’t understand them. Frank has his wand out and is murmuring an incantation while pressing his wand gently over the gashes on Remus’s arms, healing the cuts, magically closing the wounds. Once Frank has finished, Remus has angry red scars up and down his arms, which are still soaked with blood, but he’s no longer actively bleeding.

Frank is asking him questions, being patient and kind, but Remus can hardly listen to him. Remus is caught up in his own internal monologue of  _ why why why, why  _ did he do something so selfish and stupid,  _ why  _ didn’t he just go ask Madam Pomfrey for help,  _ why  _ did he push everyone away- Lily and then Marlene and then Sirius, everyone who had given him a sidelong glance and asked him innocently if everything was alright- why did he say no?

He keeps crying because he’s so miserable and then Frank says the name “McGonagall” which snaps Remus right back into real life, with a clarity so striking that he feels ill.

“No!” He gasps, grabbing Frank’s sleeve without even thinking about it. “No, no, please don’t tell her!” 

“Remus, I’m going to have to.” Frank tells him gently. “Not now, not if you stop crying,” he glances up at James, “but if you’re breaking down then, well, we can’t leave you alone, now can we?” Remus takes this as a rhetorical question and glances down at his wrists, scabby with reddish brown scars. They’re mixed in with other assorted scars that Remus hasn’t let anyone see before, and he wonders if Frank assumes that he’s been cutting himself before this episode. 

“Please don’t get her,” he whispers pathetically.

“I won’t get her tonight.” Frank assures him, apparently more relaxed now that Remus had stopped bawling. Still, his eyebrows are furrowed and he seems to not know what to do. 

“What… what time is it?” Remus asks pathetically.

“It’s nearly five.” Frank tells him quietly. Remus has his back to James, and his friend has been oddly quiet since Frank arrived. “Okay, Remus…” His green eyes flicker across Remus’s pathetic form. “You’re coming to breakfast with me at 6:30, and then we’re going to McGonagall. Potter, you can look after him?” Silence from James, but Remus assumes that he’s nodded. “Okay.” Frank says again, getting up and looking at his bloodstained hands. Remus feels ill. “Remus, don’t do anything stupid before then.”

“I won’t,” Remus responds in a sulky, childish voice.

“I’ll see you.” Frank tells him, and then leaves the dormitory, leaves Remus alone with the terrifyingly silent James Potter, wondering why.

**j**

It’s just as well that Frank scheduled their breakfast to be at 6:30 which is when Filch opens the door to the Great Hall for early risers and Quidditch players looking to eat before embarking on activities that take place before the sun rises. 

After Frank leaves, Remus finally turns to look at James, who finds himself both afraid and anxious about everything that had just happened. He’s wearing one of his typical jumpers, but the sleeves are still rolled to his elbows and there're dark scabbed cuts down both pale, bony forearms. 

“Remus,” James says pathetically, and Remus wipes his eyes again like the crying is going to start. “Oh, no, turn off the waterworks, please, mate, I’m not  _ angry.  _ Please, Moony, it’s okay.” He sinks back down onto his own bed. Frank had vanished the blood on the sheets but Remus’s jumper and pyjama trousers are stained red.

“I dunno what I was thinking.” Remus mumbles tearfully, jerking his sleeves back down to cover the cuts. “I’ve just been so sad and I just didn’t want to- I just didn’t want to feel like that anymore. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay, Moony, I’m glad you woke me up. Christ, I’m so glad you did. Merlin.” James feels his own face getting too hot and he fans his face uselessly thinking about what a sight it would have been to be up early doing press ups and lunges before going into the bathroom for a shower to see Remus’s lifeless, bloodless body strewn carelessly on the floor.

Evans had told him and Sirius about Remus’s fainting in the common room. James had laughed at first, thinking it was some stupid joke, but Sirius hadn’t laughed and then after Evans had given him a downright hostile look, Sirius had pulled him aside.

“He’s been very sad lately,” Sirius had told him quietly and worriedly, in a voice most unlike his own. “And he’s so bloody skinny, it’s like he’s starving himself.” James had scoffed.

“Why would he do that?”

“I dunno, why would anyone? I don’t know why he does anything, but I think something’s wrong.”

“Well, he won’t talk to us about it.”

“No, he won’t.” Sirius had mumbled sadly, grey eyes downcast and upset. “And I don’t know what to do. I think we should keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” James hadn’t meant to sound so useless and he had been surprised to be at the receiving end of a disbelieving look from Sirius Black himself. 

“In case he- I dunno- in case he does something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like- I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know anything! Just keep an eye on him, okay?” Their conversation had come to an unsatisfying end and James had sort of forgotten about it, to be honest. He’d been busy with Quidditch and lessons and appeasing Katie- three sort of difficult things to juggle, and left an elusive Remus to his own devices. 

Which seem to involve cutting up his wrists and trying to kill himself on Tuesday nights. He had seemed fine during Astronomy- a little quiet, but he had been quiet for months. Okay, well, maybe Sirius  _ was  _ right and Remus had been more than just a little off, but James hadn’t been expecting him to try killing himself! And then come running to him, begging him not to tell Sirius.

“Moony, why don’t you want me telling Sirius?” Remus winces and James is struck by how young he seems, how vulnerable. He’s grown so much more distant over third year, using humor to hide the way he was clearly struggling with his physical as well as mental health. He’s been reduced back to the wide eyed eleven year old boy that James knew- ashamed and afraid. 

“He’ll be angry.” Remus says finally. “He won’t treat me the same.”

“He found out you were a werewolf and that went over pretty well. How is this different?” James knows the answer as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Because Sirius is brave and I’m not.” He puts it simply. “I’m a fucking coward, trying this-”

“Don’t say that-”

“But it’s true and I feel so stupid because half an hour ago I was ready to die and now I’ve got to sit here and talk to you like nothing’s happened and I’ll just keep living every day like I’d rather  _ not,  _ James, it hurts so badly, it hurts  _ so  _ bad to be alive.” It’s the most James has heard Remus speak in a long time, and the boy tilts his body away from him and buries his face in his hands. He’s shaking.

“Remus, that’s not true.” James moves to sit by his side and he’s reminded of doing the same thing during second year, the only other time he’s seen Remus cry, when the shame and fear was at an almighty high after Sirius tactlessly asked about him being a werewolf. Remus doesn’t shift away from James, but flinches slightly when James puts an arm around his shoulders. He’s so thin that James could squeeze him close with room to spare. Remus had been disappearing before his eyes and he hadn’t even cared. 

“In an hour, or whatever, we’ll go down and meet Frank and then you’ll go to McGonagall and she’ll help you.” 

“How?” The syllable comes out as a choked sob and Remus tilts his head towards James instead of a way, finally giving in to his embrace. James rubs a comforting hand over his back, tracing circles in his sharp shoulder blade.

“I can’t tell you the specifics, but she’ll know what to do. You won’t feel this way forever.” Remus sniffs, and James keeps talking. He doesn’t know what about. He just keeps up a steady stream of comforting words, of things he thinks Remus would like to hear. After a while, his words fade out and he sits still, with Remus essentially held in his arms, the boy’s head against his shoulder. James wonders if he’ll ever be this close to him again. 

“James,” Remus croaks after a long silence.

“Mhm?”

“I’m not starving myself, that’s not why I don’t eat.” He pauses, not for effect, but to gather his words. “It’s because I have these nightmares every time I try to sleep. I… I turn into the wolf, and I kill people. Like you. And Sirius, and Peter, and Marlene, and everyone, and it’s awful. It’s like I’m eating  _ them. _ ” He shudders and James closes his eyes. 

“And I get so bloody nauseous whenever there’s food around because that’s all I can think about. And I’ll literally get sick, I’ve  _ gotten  _ sick, so there’s no point in eating. It’s not even my choice.” He’s not crying anymore but his voice is still wavery with tears. 

“I’m sure Madam Pomfrey has a million potions that can help.” James tells him assuredly. “Draught for a dreamless sleep, endurance potion, something for appetite. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Remus clears his throat and slowly untangles himself from James. “I should probably change.” James thinks of the bathroom- most likely bloodstained and full of sharp objects.

“Er, maybe I should clean up the bathroom.” Remus looks at him, his eyes bloodshot and impossibly tired. “Sorry, I just, I mean, yeah. I’ll clean it. Stay here.” James instructs, leaving Remus sitting on his four poster with the curtains drawn. He tiptoes over to the bathroom and cracks the door to see blood on the floor and pooled in the sink.

James  _ scourgifies _ the bathroom to the best of his ability and then vanishes the razor blades. All of them- every razor in the bathroom. He’d taught himself the vanishing charm, usually taught in Transfiguration to fourth years, just for a bit of fun, and he never thought he’d be doing it in this context. He checks the bathroom fruitlessly for anything else that Remus could use to hurt himself, but nothing else seems to come to attention. 

When he returns to the dorm, Remus is sitting on his own bed, having changed out of his bloodstained clothes. He looks over at James anxiously and worries his lip with his teeth.

“Ready?” James asks quietly. It’s nearly 6:30 now and Remus slides off his bed, throat working. They leave the dorm discreetly so as not to wake Peter or Sirius. James feels bad for abandoning Peter, as they always eat breakfast together, but this is most definitely a special circumstance. 

“James.” Remus says from behind as James starts down the stairs.

“Hm?”

“I’m s-”

“Don’t apologize anymore, okay? And don’t to Frank, either. We’re not angry with you.” Remus looks down and in the hazy darkness of the stairwell, James can’t really make out his face.

“Thank you, then. For being there.”

“Always, Moony. Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about that y'all :( 
> 
> (p.s. - i'm taking a much needed trip this coming week so the super fast updating might slow a bit but hopefully i'll have some time to write!)


	37. [YR 3] Blood Keeps Flowing

_ i’m not looking to be found, just want to feel unlost  _

**m**

Mary MacDonald doesn’t want to sound vain, but she thinks that if there were a popularity contest, for instance, of the third years at Hogwarts, she would rank as one of the most well known students. She just likes talking to people and while having a few close friends can be nice, she’s big on branching out and getting to know as many people as she can.

It’s how she came to know loud, boisterous Dorcas Meadowes, and it’s how she becomes friends with two Slytherin girls- Katherine Inkwood and Olivia Campbell. They had gotten to know each other when put into a group in Charms class and practiced their Cheering charms on each other, leaving class in such high spirits that they were already fast friends because there seemed no good reason not to be. 

Mary sits with them at lunch before Potions class, catching up on Slytherin gossip because it’s a nice change from what the Gryffindors have to say.

“Did you hear what happened to Black and Crouch?” Campbell is asking while organizing a towering sandwich on her plate. Olivia’s a muggleborn, like Mary, but keeps much quieter about it. Her dirty blonde hair is often plaited or twisted into intricate designs, and today she’s ringed a crown of braids around her head while the rest of her hair falls underneath it.

“Which Black?” Mary asks, thinking fondly of  _ her  _ Black, Sirius, with that jaunty grin and those sparkling blue eyes. What a bloody catch.

“Regulus,” Katherine supplies, obviously having heard the news. Katherine is tall and intimidating- with a narrow, proud face and slanted eyes that are full of Slytherin hubris. “He’s been in the hospital wing for days. You should’ve heard all the shouting from the dormitory when it happened, Rookwood had no idea what he signed up for.” Augustus Rookwood is a prefect for Slytherin, one that Mary finds rather handsome, but she keeps this information to herself.

“What happened to them?” She asks instead, watching in silent dismay as Olivia layers pickles on top of her sandwich before declaring it disgusting enough to eat.

“Got poisoned.” Katherine says, also watching distractedly as Olivia takes a bite out of the huge sandwich. “Speaking of poisoning, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“I’m  _ hungry _ ,” Olivia protests with a mouthful of bread. “It’s good! Try it!”

“Poisoned how?” Mary wonders, hand brushing over her right arm where the faded scars now rest, half of a slur carved into her arm by greasy, slimy, useless Barty Crouch Jr. 

“Dunno, they were retching and crying and Crouch looked like he threw up blood.”

“I’m eating!” Olivia cries dramatically.

“It’s nothing new, you were there!” Katherine argues back. 

“Why do you think they got poisoned?” Mary doesn’t know why she asks it, and Katherine finally takes her eyes off of Olivia to look at Mary, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

“I dunno, really. Must’ve done something bad. It was probably one of the Gryffindors, if we’re being honest. I wouldn’t put it past one of you lot.”

Mary scoffs. “Thanks, Kat.”

“It’s true! You’re all plenty sneaky.”

“I doubt you have much evidence of that.” Mary’s sentence drifts off as a loud voice fills the Great Hall and she catches a familiar sharp, spicy scent of cologne that can only be attributed to one person. Sirius Black himself, talking loudly to James Potter and Lily’s own Hyatt Ibex. Mary’s eyes follow him across the dining hall and Olivia elbows her softly.

“Got eyes for the other Black?”

“I’ve got to talk to him,” Mary mumbles, scraping the bench back as she stands up. “I’ll see you two in class, okay?”

“Sure, see ya!” Olivia calls while Katherine swivels in her seat to watch Mary nearly jog across the dining hall to catch Sirius. She doesn’t shout after him, that would be too embarrassing even for her, but rushes up behind him and tugs heavily on his sleeve like a young kid. 

“Who’s that- oh, hello Mary! How are we today?” Sirius cheers loudly, spinning around to look at her with those appraising, electric blue eyes. 

“I need to speak with you,” she tells him briskly, trying to let him know that she’s not in a perfectly cheery mood. “Privately.” She adds when Potter and Ibex look over at her curiously. 

“Sure.” Sirius responds with a little hint of hesitation in his voice, like he doesn’t know what she wants with him. Good, then. She’ll take him by force of surprise. Potter and Ibex tell Sirius that they’ll see him in class and Mary doesn’t regret cancelling his lunch to shout at him in the hallway outside.

“Did you poison your brother and Crouch for hurting me?” She asks pointedly. Sirius looks surprised only momentarily.

“Yeah,” he responds easily. “Are you pleased?”

“Pleased?!” Mary demands, feeling anger heating within her. “I don’t need you hurting people on my behalf!”

“Oh Mary, it wasn’t on your behalf. It was just payback.”

“I don’t need you getting payback for me! I don’t need you to defend me!” She had shared what happened between her and the Slytherin boys with Sirius in a flashing moment of weakness. If he hadn’t been leaning against the wall all bad-boy like with his hair in his face and a concerned look in his eyes, she never would have told him. And he never would have had to  _ protect  _ her, for God’s sakes! Mary doesn’t need protecting.

“I wasn’t trying to defend you, love-”

“Ooh, don’t ‘love’ me! You were getting yourself involved that’s got nothing to do with you!”

“You told me all about it!”

“I don’t need you getting involved in these things! I just told you! I didn’t mean for you to go hurt them!”

“What, like you were going to?” 

“No!” Mary shouts, admonished. “No, I wouldn’t have hurt them back!”

“So you would’ve let them get away with it.” Sirius isn’t letting himself get angry during this conversation, which makes Mary even more annoyed. Why can’t he have some fire in his eyes? Why can’t he blow up and insult her? Sirius remains oddly cool headed and his eyes flicker over hers amusedly, like this is just some sort of show for him. 

“Are you calling me a coward?” She demands brashly, hands on her hips, hoping she looks scary. But she’s much shorter than him and the amused look on his face turns into, of all things, a smile. He’s smiling at her.

“Not at all, but if you weren’t going to stand up for yourself, I dunno who would.”

“Oh piss  _ off _ , Black, you just wanted an excuse to hurt someone because that’s what you’re best at- lashing out to get attention and then hoping someone’s happy with you for it!” The smile drops from his face and she feels a foreign sting of delight to see she might’ve touched a nerve. “What they did to me wasn’t even so bad- your brother was retching blood, did you hear that? Huh? Does that make you feel bad, or are you at so much of a loss for empathy that it’s good news to hear your own brother is in the hospital wing?”

“You don’t know me like that, okay, so don’t even start-”

“And you don’t know me, so don’t fight my battles for me!”

“Oi!” A loud voice calls, snapping the two of them out of their battle. “That’s twenty points from Gryffindor because I’ve had a long night and the two of you need to either sort out your differences or leave each other alone.” Frank Longbottom has made his way down the steps and now looks back and forth between Mary and Sirius, the latter of whom looks unashamed and  _ angry _ , finally. 

“Longbottom,  _ you’re  _ a Gryffindor.” He pleads, earning a loud scoff from Frank. It’s true, the Head Boy looks pale faced and tired.

“Yeah, I am, and you’ll lose us ten more points if you keep back talking. What’s the problem here?” He demands. 

“There’s no problem,” Sirius and Mary mutter in unison, dark faced with low eyes.

“Good!” Frank’s tone is the opposite of cheerful. “Then get on to class, okay?” He doesn’t wait around to see them leave, just storms off down the hallway, taking his poor mood along with him.

“I’m not apologizing to you,” Sirius growls. Mary thinks about shouting at him again but knows she’ll lose more than ten more points for Gryffindor and sniffs at him, thinking about what a ridiculous fight she’s gotten herself into, before tilting her chin up high and marching away. Sirius follows at a slow pace behind her, because they’re both going to Potions class.

Mary only revisits the topic in the dorm room that night. Dorcas has temporarily replaced Moira, their real roommate, an Irish girl who spends her nights hanging about with older, cooler, fourth year girls. Dorcas is one of their best friends and seems to skirt the prefects every time she stays late into the night, sitting on the foot of Moira’s bed like she owns it, though Moira would never know. 

Mary hadn’t told her friends about what had happened with her, Black, and Crouch, and only tells them now. Lily and Marlene listen with wide eyes while Dorcas speaks up right away, enraged by their behavior. Mary talks her down, tells her it doesn’t matter so much, and continues on to tell the three of them about what Sirius did, and their fight, and how she feels stupid but valid at the same time.

Dorcas says it’s sort of romantic how Sirius stood up for her. 

Marlene shrugs and says she wouldn’t have said anything to him, since it had already happened and there’s no sense of turning back time to fix it now. 

Lily gives Mary a long look with those brilliant green eyes and tells her clearly that she did the right thing, because boys don’t need to go around making other people’s problems their own just for the sake of making trouble. Lily tells her that she’s done nothing wrong, that Sirius is the one deserving to feel bad, and that next time, she should try slapping him. 

**r**

Things don’t necessarily get better for Remus Lupin. 

After trying to kill himself, if he were forced to spend another miserable day alive, he would have preferred to spend it lying on the floor reading a book while listening to Pink Floyd and eating chocolate. Instead, he’s dragged to Professor McGonagall’s office by Frank Longbottom.

It had been probably one of the worst experiences that Remus had ever undergone, which is saying something. Frank had been uncharacteristically anxious under the stern gaze of McGonagall, peering over her spectacles, and Remus had wondered if the older boy had been considering the opportunity of apparating right out of there. 

“Remus here, had er, had some problems last night.” Frank introduced. 

“I tried to kill myself.” Remus had said bluntly, ignoring Frank’s wince and the way McGonagall’s gaze had sharpened to epic proportions.

“Yeah.” Frank had mumbled unhelpfully. McGonagall had banished him and sat Remus down for the longest, most excruciating conversation of his entire life. He doesn’t remember most of it, just remembers how her sharp green eyes had continually flickered back and forth across his face, full of silent judgements as he answered her questions, not telling her any more than he needed to. 

No, she wouldn’t hear about his dad throwing himself at him in the living room and swinging a fist hard enough to split his lip. Or about the way he had felt when first sinking the blade into his arm, like things were fine and alright and how the warm gush of blood down both arms had made him feel completely sorted out, once his veins had been untangled. McGonagall doesn’t hear about that. 

He tells her that waking up sometimes feels like a punishment and moving from one position to another isn’t so easy when it feels like his feet are made of concrete and his breath just won’t come. He tells her that lying in bed at night is anything but a comfort, for he falls asleep to dream of himself physically tearing his friends limb from limb, enough to wake up with the taste of their flesh still between his teeth- the way he wakes up after the full moon with bits of his own skin speared over his white teeth. She never flinches. 

She takes him down to Madam Pomfrey and makes him recount the horrors for her, which is even worse because he and her are close and he’s been pretending to be strong for the longest time in front of her, if just so she won’t worry so much. She frowns as Remus explains what’s been happening to him but the tight knot sitting both in his throat and stomach is relieved when she says-

“We can fix this, Remus. What do you think my job is?”

The worst part of the encounter is rolling up the sleeves of his jumper to show her the dark red scabbed scars that Frank had tried his best to heal the night before. She passes her wand over the wounds while murmuring healing spells, and the scabs turn into thin, silvery white scars on his pale forearms. Any judgements she has are thankfully reserved for her own mind. She doesn’t tell him she’s disappointed, doesn’t ask why. Just heals the wounds and looks at him with those kind blue eyes that make him feel alert and awash with guilt. 

After, Madam Pomfrey tells him to come back later in the evening so she can give him some tablets and potions that she hopes will help him, and he tells her thank you while genuinely meaning it. Outside the hospital wing, McGonagall stands next to Remus in an odd silence.

“Er… don’t you have classes?” He asks her weakly.

“No, Remus, I don’t teach any first period lessons.” She hasn’t called him ‘Mr. Lupin’ all morning, and the odd fondness that comes with a professor using a first name makes him feel sort of strange. He’s not wearing his uniform and shoves his hands into the pockets of his threadbare trousers, not knowing what to do. Is he supposed to go to class now? Or just stand in the hall with McGonagall until she finally has a lesson to teach?

“Could I go back to my dormitory?” He finally asks, not knowing what she’s expecting from him. She sighs in the dignified way that she’s so good at.

“Maybe it’s best that you’re not by yourself today.” Then a hesitation. Minerva McGonagall has been caught in a situation where she doesn’t exactly know what to do. It’s the same powerlessness that had overwhelmed Frank the night before. A Head Boy should know what to do in nearly any situation, but trying to kill yourself seems to have a distinct way of making others uncomfortable and Remus looks down and feels his heart wrench miserably in his chest, having only the small comfort of James treating him the same way, at least.

“Should I go to class, then?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Can I go to the library?” At this point, he has no idea what she wants from him. 

“Yes!” McGonagall starts at that, as though he’s suggested something brilliant. “The library is good. Go there.” She doesn’t tell him goodbye, just watches him and makes him feel those stern eyes on his back as he disappears down the long hallway, feeling lonesome and tired. The library seems a long way off and this heaviness hasn’t at all left him. It feels worse, in fact. He could have been dead right now, but instead moves through the hall like a ghost that hadn’t tired hard enough. 

The library is a quiet refuge for him and Remus sits at his usual table in the corner. He hasn’t kept up with the tutoring since returning from winter break, feeling too exhausted to even spare a few hours a week helping the younger students with their studies. The girls of the group, especially Julie, had been rather naggy and Remus had taken to hiding away in secret spots around the school just to get away from them. 

And from his friends, who could clearly tell that he was hurting and were probably hurt themselves by how he pushed them away. Remus tries to do some coursework for History of Magic, since he had been running on empty throughout the lesson yesterday and doesn’t remember a thing that Binns had said. 

He lasts maybe twenty minutes bent over the textbook, hair in his face and desperately trying to fight off distractions, like how badly he needs a haircut and to  _ wash  _ his hair. Showers these days are as short as possible because spending more time than he has to seeing his own emaciated body makes Remus feel ill and self hating. It’s either a decision between repulsing everyone else with his greasy hair and body odor, or repulsing himself by standing under a spray of hot water and wanting to cry because of how much he can’t stand to look at himself.

Distracted, he sits back in the chair and stares tiredly around the library, coloring himself generally unsurprised when none other than Albus Dumbledore appears from behind one of the bookshelves. 

“Hello, Remus.” The headmaster says kindly as he moves to stand over Remus’s table, smiling down at the boy with a tinkle in his blue eyes.

“Hello.” Remus responds in somewhat of a surly tone, wondering how many people will know of the events that took place the previous night by the end of the day.

“Would you care to join me on a stroll? The weather is a bit chilly today, but the sun is out! A nice surprise for February.” His invitation is masked as more of a command, and Remus soon finds himself side by side with Dumbledore, walking out onto the grounds of the school.

“Professor McGonagall told me about what happened last night, Remus.” Dumbledore says in his infuriatingly calm, even tone.

“Did she?” Remus asks sarcastically, not knowing what’s possessing him to be so rude. 

“She felt it important that I know, and I’m sorry that you were driven to those actions.” Dumbledore pauses, gazing across the grounds in the direction of the Whomping Willow. “Remus, I’ve never met anyone as young as yourself with your affliction, and I can safely say that none of us have any idea how difficult it is for you to struggle with it here at school. You’re very brave to persist.”

“I wasn’t brave last night.” Remus mutters, kicking at a pebble on the ground.

“All of us face moments of weakness, my boy. We cannot change the actions of the past, but we can always look back on what we have done and turn towards the future with the knowledge of how to change our actions for the better and not repeat them.” Christ, he’s like a walking philosophy book. Remus hesitates, not knowing how to reply. 

“I didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful, sir.” He says quietly. “For the opportunity you’ve given me.” 

“Not at all, Remus. I had hoped you would come to Hogwarts and enjoy your studies as well as make friends, and I am well assured that you have done both. And last night, you went to a friend to help you, for which  _ I  _ am most grateful. You are not alone here.” 

“I know, sir.” Remus sighs. “I wasn’t thinking, in the moment.”

“I understand. But you must remember that a darkness simply cannot last forever. There will always be a form of relief. And Remus, remember, that relief does not mean death.” Those words stay in Remus’s mind for the rest of the day. 

He returns to the hospital wing to find that Madam Pomfrey has collected plenty of little vials filled with multicolored potions and stored them in a large case. 

“This has been rather fun,” she confesses brightly while throwing open the case. “They’re all labeled, so take them when you please. This one’s for dreamless sleep, so you can take that right before bed, and this one is for headaches specifically, and that eases nausea, and this is for fever and pain in general, this is for energy, and that one is for appetite.” The matron frowns, looking over the phials inside. “I think I’ve covered them all.”

“That’s brilliant, Madam, thank you.” 

“Of course, Remus! If you ever need anything else you’ll come and tell me, okay? We’re all here for you.” Remus thinks he  _ knows _ , that people have been telling him that all day long. He’s not alone, he’s got people to help him, he’s got support, he’s got help. He just doesn’t know how to convince himself that it’s true. 


	38. [YR 3] Megaphone to my Chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> queue the gay awakenings! be prepared for more in the coming chapters :)

_ feel a rush at the beginning, get caught up just for a minute _

**s**

“What do you reckon we should do for Moony’s birthday?” Sirius asks to a compact mirror. He’s shut himself in a broom closet down the hall from the trophy room where he was set to be polishing all night. James is in the well lit kitchens so Sirius can actually see his face. He’s been tasked with cleaning dishes by hand- his wand in Filch’s possession until their detentions are served. 

This one had been for rearranging the portraits around the Gryffindor tower into alto, soprano, and baritones, and then conducting them to sing God Save the Queen over and over again. It had been a laugh until Professor Wakefield had happened upon them and immediately stung them with three nights of detention and twenty points from Gryffindor. 

So, as usual, Sirius had gotten hopelessly distracted and left his task to go sit in the closet and discuss plans with James. 

“I’m not sure he wants a big party,” James tells him seriously. “I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t want a party. We shouldn’t do a party.”

“No?” Sirius adjusts the mirror. “It might cheer him up!”

“It won’t.” James says this with finality and Sirius gets the idea that maybe (sadly) James Potter might be right in this situation. “But d’you know what might?”

“Hmm?”

“No classes.” Remus’s birthday takes place two days after the full moon in March, which makes Sirius feel rather bad for him. The transformations seem to be getting worse and worse for him, and Sirius remembers the aftermath of the February moon including Remus spending days locked up in the dormitory, hardly talking to anyone, and so plainly depressed that Sirius became worried that he might try something drastic to get the pain to stop. 

Now, he seems to have recovered a bit from that depression. He’s eating again and smiling again, sort of, in that halfway habit where the corner of his mouth will quirk up and his eyes might crinkle in a near grin. Sometimes Sirius thinks he spends too long thinking about Remus’s face and the way his mouth moves. 

Not often, though.

When James and Sirius reconvene after detention, James with plenty of biscuits taken from the kitchen, they eat and talk on their way back up to the dormitory. 

“I was thinking something with balloons, so it’s symbolic, you know? We could fill every classroom.” James tells him through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Yeah, but the professors would just pop them. Hmm, what about indestructible balloons?” James looks thoughtful at this proposition as he climbs the stairs.

“Indestructible balloons…” It takes them a few days to get the spells right, but by the time they finally do, the spell had worked even better than they expected. Going about the prank itself is a lonely affair, since they have to set the balloons up very early in the morning, around four before anyone is stirring, and Remus doesn’t join in on this late night escapade. 

It’s not only because it’s a prank orchestrated to get classes cancelled on his birthday and he shouldn’t know about it, but it’s because (god forbid) he’s sleeping like a regular human being. Sirius had spent a few nights lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, wondering when the curtains would twitch and Remus’s grinning face, complete with dark circles under his eyes, would invite him to smoke fags down in the common room while talking all night. 

Now, he sleeps through the night and wakes up early, like he used to, to go have breakfast with James and Peter. Sirius is left to wake up and get dressed alone, no one to talk to while he brushes his teeth, no one’s tie to fix. Just him. 

Well, he’s not alone on the morning of Remus’s birthday. 

The three other marauders wake him up early, drawing the curtains of his four poster back and singing a loud version of ‘happy birthday’ that James ends by cheering and clapping while Remus sits up in bed, smiling bashfully. 

“Thanks, thanks.” He says, waving off James’s cheers. Remus had been released from the hospital wing the previous day, but there are still red scars lining his bare forearms, and a discoloration beneath his eye. 

Sirius knows how upset Remus gets about marks on his face, because there’s no way to hide them and no good enough excuses about getting visible cuts across your face. On the first New Years party that Sirius had attended, Remus had shown up with a new scar on his face, across his jaw and down his neck. At the time, Sirius and James had been somewhat convinced that Remus’s dad had been the reason for all the marks on his skin, and Remus had spent the whole night tugging the collar of his jacket up and turning his face so they only saw the right side- hiding himself. 

It’s similar today, how he ducks his head so the purple bruise around his eye isn’t caught in the light. His old smile is sort of back, though, the one that lights up his whole face and stretches the scar that cuts down all the way to his lip. 

“We’ve got a three day weekend, Moony!” Peter cheers pathetically, earning a shove from Sirius. He had wanted to see Remus’s reaction himself to the prank he and James had so successfully pulled, without any stupid spoilers from Peter.

“How d’you mean?”

“See for yourself!” James says loudly. Remus gives him a quizzical look but slides off the bed and pulls a jumper off of the floor, tugging it on over his short sleeved shirt. His hair is very long, now, well on the way to his shoulders, but he’s washed it so it’s fluffy on top and looks sort of feathered down the back- a true modern style. James opens the door to their dormitory and holds a hand out in front of him- letting Remus be the first person down the stairs. 

The girls aren’t down yet which Sirius is sort of grateful for. They always get sort of tetchy when finding out about pranks they’ve pulled (except Mary, but thinking about her makes Sirius’s heart hurt) and he doesn’t want them knowing about the process of this one. The four of them leave the common room and walk to the classroom nearest to the Gryffindor tower, being Professor Flitwick’s Charms room. 

No one’s there yet (thankfully) to see the multicolored balloons lighting up the classroom in bright colors. They’ve grown exponentially since Sirius blew them up much earlier in the morning, and in a quick glance he can easily see them swelling even bigger. 

Remus peers into the classroom, frowning at the balloons inside. 

“What-?” He asks, amber eyes trained on the floating globes. “Oh.” Comes the sound of realization, and then a gleeful smile. “Oh, they’re growing! That- that’s brilliant! Did you come up with that, Sirius?”

“Well, I made them indestructible.” Sirius tells him proudly, his heart warming when Remus’s smile grows even farther. “James had the idea of making them expand. They’ll fill the whole classroom by the end of the day.”

“And they’re in  _ all  _ of them,” James adds. His face wears his usual cheerful grin, one that could fight the sun and win for the task of brightening someone’s day. Unfailing, Sirius thinks. 

“And how is anyone supposed to get rid of them?” Remus asks, receiving two twin shrugs from Sirius and James. 

“They’ll figure something out.” James offers plainly, clearly not worried about the topic. “Well, then, it’s your fourteenth, Moony! How should we start our celebrations?” 

**m**

Marlene sort of loves playing Quidditch. 

Her whole life, she’s never felt right doing “girly” things. Frazer and Oliver, her older brothers, would be allowed to play rough, wear patched trousers and t-shirts, and cut their hair short because it was what boys would do. Marlene and her older sister Katie had been shoved into pretty dresses, had their hair plaited, and been told to read books and draw pictures like good girls. 

So when Marlene had made beater for Gryffindor, she had been insanely enthusiastic about the sport.

“It’s  _ mental,  _ Remus, it’s like I’ve got a whole new respect!” She tells Remus one night after practice. They’ve got a match against Hufflepuff that weekend, in mid-March, and when she had walked into the changing room after practice, she had overheard the Hufflepuff team captain refer to her as a ‘menace’.

“Should I be jealous?” Remus asks lazily, twirling a strand of her long blonde hair around his finger. They’re cuddled up together in the windowsill. Marlene’s half sore from practice but the common room is warm, as are Remus’s arms, and she laughs lightly.

“Really, though. It’s like I’m  _ noticed  _ now, but people… I dunno, it’s like I said, they respect me!”

“I’m glad they respect you. I would too, if I were on the other side of that bat. You could crack someone’s head-” Remus untangles his hands from around her and mimes smacking someone with a bat, getting Marlene to giggle. 

“I would never use it for real violence!”

“Sure?” She turns back and winks at him, getting his own face to break into a smile. 

“Just don’t get on my bad side.”

“Wouldn’t make that mistake twice.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky I wasn’t a beater last year! Would’ve spilled your brains in a moment!” Remus scoffs in disbelief. 

“You would never.”

“Nah, I love you too much.” Marlene catches her breath after that, hearing the words after they’ve tumbled thoughtlessly out of her mouth, but Remus continues nonchalantly without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, you do.” Arms back around her and his chin tucked against her shoulder. Marlene tries to relax back into his embrace but can’t stop the words from playing inside her head.  _ I love you too much.  _ Had she really just said that? Her sister Katie had told her that love was a very strong word, same as hate, and should be only confessed to a person when the right time came.

But her brothers?

“Love’s whatever,” Frazer had told her sparingly, gesturing his hand uselessly. She’s closest to him, since he’s the nearest in age to her, and had shared a bedroom with him for most of her childhood. Her parents hadn’t separated the rooms by gender, just by the order of the kids, so the two eldest (Katie and Oliver) were roomed together until puberty demanded more space.

“It’s not all gushy and girly like Katie makes it out to be, you know.” She had gone to Frazer for advice about love after the end of first year, and his advice wasn’t worth writing home about. “It’s just a good feeling and a nice thing to say, if you mean it. Just mean it, right?”

And she does, when she accidentally tells Remus she loves him, because it feels like home to sit by the window with his arms around her, all soft in his jumper and smelling like cinnamon and cigarette smoke. The way his hoarse voice comes welcome and warm from in his chest, the way she can feel it humming through her back when he talks. They don’t have to face each other, she can sit with her back against his chest and talk for hours. That’s love.

But she thinks about it all night long, because she and the girls have told each other “love you!” millions of times with careless indifference but it’s different when you say that to a girl, so much more different than a boy. And why? Should the same weight be held for Marlene telling Mary “I love you” than her sitting in Remus’s arms and saying the same words? Or should it all be more casual?

Marlene doesn’t know, doesn’t want to waste time thinking about it. She feels better working it out on the pitch, anyways. 

Because there’s something nice and really  _ raw _ about sitting on her broom with the wind blowing her hair back, like a superhero with a scarlet cape and the name MCKINNON written on the back in all capitals. Cheeks pink with the force of the biting wind, weight of a bat in her hand- like she’s not Marlene anymore, just been resorted to a last name that Rosa or Izzy will shout across the pitch, she’s MCKINNON and unstoppable and will knock you into next week with the force of the bludger she hits. 

Today, Izzy Adams and her lovely golden pigtails decide that it’s a good a day as any to practice broom surfing.

“Ace!” Shouts Hyatt Ibex, grinning widely. “Finally, my time to shine!” Marlene’s seen Ibex surf before and he does it better than anyone, his lean body balanced perfectly on the broom while he leans forward and backward. It’s best when he scores, pumping a fist in the air and shouting a mouthed grin while stretching out his arms to catch his balance. 

It’s something that chasers use more, although Adams explains that a seeker could use it to catch the snitch, and a keeper could, in fact, stand on their broom in a last ditch effort to save a goal.

“As if,” Black scoffs, but he perfects the move anyways because he’s good at everything and won’t let a challenge go. Marlene and Rosa mainly use it for balance practice, both of them starting slow and wavering back and forth on their brooms with arms outstretched to keep themselves steady.

“You know,” little Nate Neary tells them after surfing the length of the pitch in a way that stuns Adams into wide eyed admiration, “this is sort of like skateboarding.”

“What’s that?” Black asks. 

“It’s a little board on wheels that muggles use.”

“For transportation?” Black seems fascinated by this invention.

“Well, mostly for fun.” Nate looks thoughtful. He has big ears that stick out from his head, and large front teeth that make him look very mousy. “Although it does get you places faster, though it’s not ideal. I’ve got a board, would you want to see it after practice?”

“Sure!” Black tells him enthusiastically. Rosa, balancing expertly on her broom behind him, rolls her eyes dramatically. The three girls on the team- Rosa, Marlene, and Izzy, spend the rest of practice either broom surfing or balancing in yoga poses on their broom, which Rosa does as a means to show off. When practice is over, the boys head up to the dining hall while Rosa meets her friends that had been hanging about as practice had ended. 

Izzy and Marlene are left essentially alone in the changing room. 

“Are you showering?” Izzy asks while untying her shoes.

“No, I think I’ll change and go up to dinner.” 

“Cool.” Izzy drags off her Quidditch jersey and stands in front of the mirror in her bra, making faces as she unties her tangled hair. Marlene glances at her and sees her different somehow- maybe in the watery light of the changing room or the fact that she’s exhausted with practice and looking at anything nice makes her feel good.

But it’s Izzy’s collarbones that do it.

Sharp and defined under her pale skin, edging over to the slope of her shoulders and then her biceps, taut with muscle and there’s a patterned tan birthmark on one of them that Marlene’s seen a few times, in warmer weather when Izzy wears t-shirts. She undoes the low pigtails and her golden hair cascades down around her shoulders. She doesn’t look at Marlene, she runs her hands through her own hair while Marlene watches, wondering what it would feel like to drag her own fingers through that rich, thick hair. 

Isabelle Adams stands in only her bra and Quidditch trousers while Marlene’s face consistently heats up as she tries not to stare but stares all the while- at her soft stomach and the round shape of her chest, the way her jaw is a dark slash above her neck, and those collarbones.

“Good work today, McKinnon, I’ll see you later!” Her shining pink lips move and Marlene is drawn out of her daze, nodding and stammering stupidly. She stumbles out of the changing room before she’s left with a half naked and very pretty girl for any longer without exploding, or something. The March air is chilly with a little bit of a drizzle coming down, now. Marlene blinks the rain out of her eyes while walking slowly back up to the castle by herself, lost in thoughts about Izzy’s collarbones and why she’s still bloody  _ thinking  _ about them.

She’s jealous- that’s it. That’s got to be it. Marlene’s never been too proud about her own body- she’s too tall, awfully lanky, and as pale as any blonde Scottish girl should be. Izzy’s shorter, softer, with breasts and hips but her legs and arms are toned from Quidditch and now Marlene wonders what they feel like, the hard contrast of the muscles against her supple skin. Buggering fuck, that’s not jealousy, now is it? She’s thinking about the fifth year girl all wrong, completely wrong. Marlene enters the school frustrated and sort of out of her mind, trying her very best to convince herself that it’s jealousy, that’s all it is. Jealousy and nothing more.

**j**

James Potter has been living a generally perfect life for the first thirteen years of his existence. There’s never been any long term stressors causing him anxiety, and he’s never really suffered through anything catastrophic that’s left a long term negative effect on his life. 

He knows he’s lucky. He’s seen the way Sirius’s parents seem to extinguish the life from his eyes and render him quiet and submissive, not at all the vibrant boy with a wicked grin who always has so much to say. 

And Remus, of course. Remus who had kept his suffering locked up as some sort of private hell deep inside him- how he starved himself, stayed up all night (every night), and resorted to cutting open his arms as a last ditch effort to kill off that never ending pain.

It hurts James to see his friends hurting. Hurts him especially to see them hurting and not being able to do very much to cheer them up. Like no amount of food he steals from the kitchens or cheesy jokes, or records, or distractions will ever make them feel better and this is James realizing that powerlessness is something he’s just not good with, because it hurts more than anything to be  _ useless.  _

This feeling is exacerbated one morning when the Great Hall seems quieter than usual- more subdued. Students huddle together, reading letters from home and passing newspapers around. James doesn’t hear the news until Dorcas does. 

She’s sitting at their table for breakfast today, in between James and Marlene, and he glances to his left with only momentary interest as an owl drops a letter down in front of her. Dorcas opens it, reads it once, twice, and with shaking hands she throws it down on the table and rises jerkily. She bangs her knee on the table and half limps out of the hall while Marlene follows close behind.

“What’s that about?” James asks as Remus scoots in beside him to fill the gap of the two missing girls. MacDonald snatches the letter off the table and reads it quickly before passing it to Evans. She bites her lip when she’s worried and does just that this morning, her lip shining white with the pressure of her teeth on it. 

“Hello?” James waves his hand up and down in front of Evans’s face, and she bats it away indignantly. 

“Is it about the attacks?” Remus asks, shoving the Daily Prophet in front of James. He never bothers much with reading the newspaper, but today feels as though he won’t learn anything without picking it up. After a cursory glance at some intimidating headlines and a skim of the front page article, he understands all he needs to. 

“Death Eaters?” He scoffs, trying to pull some form of humor from the tragedy he’s just read about. The Dark Lord’s followers, now calling themselves ‘Death Eaters,’ had attacked over a dozen half blood families around northeast England, including Sunderland, where Dorcas’s family is from. “Couldn’t they have thought of a better name?”

“Be quiet, Potter.” Evans tells him sharply, folding up the letter.

“Can I read it?” Peter asks.

“No, I don’t think she’d want you to.” Evans and MacDonald share one of those knowing glances that only girls seem to understand. 

“What happened?” Remus asks gently, in a non-prying sort of way that James has never really mastered. 

“Her mum… she’s a squib, you know.” MacDonald says, her face uncharacteristically serious. “She was attacked. She’s in hospital.” 

“A muggle hospital?” Peter wonders.

“Yes, her dad’s a muggle.” Evans snaps at him. Mary places a comforting hand on Evan’s arm.

“Is she going to be okay?” Remus seems just as serious, and the lot of them are left in silence when MacDonald’s only response is a shrug. James now feels guilty about joking about the situation, and bad because he can do nothing to help. So he tries to find a way to cheer Dorcas up. Sirius is still asleep in the dorms and James has Arithmancy with Evans, MacDonald, and McKinnon, who meets them in the classroom and immediately starts chattering with the rest of the girls. 

It takes one class period for James to work out what to do, and when class is over, he sets out to find people. He’s best acquainted with the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and finds Katie no problem, telling her about his new plan. She promises to tell her mates on the team, and James believes her. 

During History of Magic in the afternoon, James corners Kingsley Shacklebolt himself to explain his plan.

“Hiya, Shacklebolt, I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m James Potter.” He sticks out an eager hand and Kingsley shakes it, albeit wearing a somewhat confused expression.

“I know of you, but don’t know you. Pleasure.” He says in a rich sort of voice that has Potter understanding why everyone loves him so much. Kingsley has dark brown skin and very short black hair. The yellow in his robes give his face a golden sort of glow.

“So, I’m setting up some late night Quidditch, if you’re interested.” The Hufflepuff quirks an eyebrow. “Not house matches, just for fun, and at night because, well, why not? It’s something new! I’ve got some Ravenclaws in and I’ve just got to tell the Slytherins, but houses won’t really matter.” Kingsley doesn’t respond. “It’s just for fun.” James repeats.

“I get you, mate.” Kingsley scratches at his eyebrow and regards James impassively. “Ah, why not, I’ll spread the word. When’s it happening?”

“Tonight, ten o’clock, down at the pitch. Cheers!” James bounds off before any more questions can be asked, and spends the rest of his day pursuing Slytherin players. By dinnertime, he knows for certain that a good number of students will be turning out for the pickup match that night, and can hardly contain his excitement as he sits in the dorms that night. 

Remus is listening to some awful punk music by some American group called the New York Dolls and Sirius is trying to sing along while not knowing the words. He taps his feet loudly on the floor while air-guitaring to the solos and Remus laughs along in the background. James doesn’t understand it, sometimes, the way Sirius can always put a smile on Remus’s face. James had kept quiet about Remus’s suicidal breakdown and assumes that Remus hasn’t told anyone else, not even Sirius.

And if Remus is in a good mood, James has no complaints, so he sits back and flips through a Quidditch magazine while Remus and Sirius rock and roll and Peter nods along to the beat, obviously fascinated by the music, but not bold enough to embarrass himself to the songs like Sirius is. 

The night passes slowly, and James is glad when curfew falls. Him and Sirius bid the other boys farewell while descending the stairs. Marlene meets them in the common room and tells them about her nerves about being out after curfew.

“We do it all the time,” Sirius assures her. “A little detention’s not the worst thing that could happen.” Marlene doesn’t respond to him, just gives them a tight but excited smile. Then they’re off. They get split up when Mrs. Norris prawls by and James ends up leaving the castle by himself.

Dorcas catches up with him as he slips out the doors. The night is chilly and the grass outside wet with dew, but there’s no rain. Her hand tugging his arm gets him to turn, and he smiles with surprise at seeing her. She’s wearing black and yellow Hufflepuff Quidditch robes, and her face looks oddly pale- dark eyes unadorned by makeup, hair flat and disorganized down her back.

“Potter.”

“Hi, Meadowes, I’m so glad you came!” 

“Thank you,” she tells him genuinely, cracking half a smile. “I needed a distraction.”

“I hope this is suitable.”

“It is.” She lets go of his sleeve and instead fiddles with her broomstick, picking at the wood. It’s a school broom, all rough wood and half wrapped in tape to cover up splinters. “Time to kick your arse, now, I suppose?”

“Oh, you wish.” 


	39. [YR 3] Be in My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of the gay awakenings! (unrelated but necessary cw for self harm during remus's chapter sorry y'all :/)
> 
> lyrics from 'flowers in your hair' by the lumineers

_ when we were younger we thought everyone was on our side _

_ then we grew a little bit, and romanticized the time i saw flowers in your hair  _

_ be in my eyes, be in my heart  _

**s**

The late night Quidditch matches become Sirius’s favorite activities. 

The whole lot of them got detention, the first night, because they all came back inside at once and Filch found the entire group of students standing there shame faced with nowhere to hide. This breaks the crowd down to smaller numbers, which Sirius is secretly grateful for. 

Of Gryffindors- James, Sirius, Marlene, Hyatt, and Gideon Prewett are the five who stay. Katie Robinson, Elliott Ackerley, and Benjy Fenwick are the Ravenclaws who remain. For Hufflepuff, it’s Dorcas, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Matty Boot, and Genevive Abbott. All four of them are on the house team. And for Slytherin, there’s a single bloke called Danny Hunter who can do all sorts of fancy tricks on his broom. 

Sirius comes to understand that the people he doesn’t know so well are worth knowing. They all have loads of fun out in the moonlight, dressed in a mismatch of pyjamas and trying to keep themselves quiet, having whispered shouting matches across the pitch with enough swearing thrown in from Boot and Fenwick that it sounds properly rough and raw, like a real match. 

And then some nights, after flying around in the dark gets old, they find other activities to participate in. Some people clear out while others stay, and on one particular night when the April air is warm and welcoming, Fenwick suggests they go down to the Black Lake. 

Most everyone had been tired and wanted to head back to bed, especially Matty, Genevive, and Gideon, who are all fifth years and have come to realize that playing midnight Quidditch instead of studying for their upcoming O.W.Ls might not be the best use of their time. 

Tonight, there’s only five of them left: James, Sirius, Benjy, Katie, and Marlene. Both Katie and Marlene had planned on retreating back indoors, but the “I’ll stay if you’ll stay” approach had worked out between the girls and they whisper amicably with each other as Benjy leads the way down to the Black Lake. 

Benjy Fenwick, admittedly, is very cool. 

He’s east Asian but Sirius doesn’t know specifically what ethnicity because he hardly knows anything about him, much less his family. Although he’s a third year just the same as them, he’s friends with cool people like Caradoc Dearborn (a fourth year Hufflepuff) and a band of rebellious Ravenclaws with shaggy dyed hair and lots of silver jewelry- like punks, sort of. 

Sirius had gotten to know Benjy better through the late night Quidditch matches and becomes a little bit obsessed with him. It’s just he's a _ badass _ , a rebel with a half shaved head and safety pins jammed through his earlobes. Sirius wonders what sort of music Benjy listens to, and is too afraid to ask for fear of being judged. 

It’s Benjy who suggests going for a swim once they get down to the cold lake. The five of them had glanced around at each other after his suggestion, and with enough shrugs and half nods of no one brave enough to say “it’s bloody cold and one in the morning and we’ve got class tomorrow!” They’re fourteen year olds standing around out in the moonlight without anyone knowing they’ve gone missing (not yet, at least) and if someone’s made a suggestion of going swimming, then by god, they’re going to go swimming. 

James is the first to move, pulling off his shirt and then shucking off his trousers to stand there in his boxer shorts, grinning sort of bashfully. 

“Come on, then!” He offers in a confident voice before wading into the lake, holding back a half sort of shiver before turning around and stretching his arms out wide. “Water’s nice!” The water isn’t nice by any means, but Sirius and Benjy are quick to follow James’s actions and plunge into the frigid water. 

James is probably the one with the least reason to be insecure since he’s very fit, but Sirius has almost matched levels of confidence, shaking his wet hair wildly after coming up from being submerged underwater. Him, James, and Benjy swim around deeper in the water while Katie and Marlene do handstands in the shallower water by the shore. 

After a while, the boys get tired of treading water and move back to where they can stand up. When Sirius is not swimming, he finally gets a good look at an undressed Benjy Fenwick. 

The water reflects his pale face and the bright moonlight catches the safety pins in his ears- turns them bright silver, a silver that races through the stubbled hair of his half shaved head and highlights his shadowed collarbones and jaw. 

Sirius doesn’t even look at Katie or Marlene, soaked in their bras and panties, and it’s not just because both of his best mates are romantically involved with each of them. Even if it were Mary MacDonald standing there (the girl he’s pretending to be romantically involved with), her golden tone turned silver in the watery light, he wouldn’t have looked her way.

He looks at Benjy Fenwick. 

Benjy Fenwick looks back.

He tilts his head to the side, water running down his neck, and his black eyes flash curiously as Sirius stands helpless and frozen in the water. Feels like he’s drowning in Benjy’s own gaze and he swallows an odd lump in his throat before thinking about moving and finding it generally impossible. 

Benjy’s still watching, now with a dignified little smirk on his face and Sirius is so incapable of wading away that he’s starting to feel a little panicky, but it’s a deep down sort of panic and then he realizes with an awful shock that he’s hard.

Thank god they’re standing in a lake.

The odd stiffening sensation in his shorts is what finally breaks Sirius out of his love struck daze, and he ducks his head under the freezing water to clear his mind, swimming a few laps out farther into the lake. It’s pitch dark, halfway scary, but the fear of a huge stretch of underwater unknown darkness gets Benjy’s face out of his head, which is good. 

Still, Sirius spends the rest of the night on edge, not making eye contact with the Ravenclaw boy and hardly looking at him. By the time they’re all shaking cold and ready to go in, Sirius is greatly relieved and locks himself in the bathroom once returned to the dorms to deal with the issue of Benjy’s face inside his head. Why is Benjy’s face still inside his head? What in the bloody hell is wrong with him?

He’s never felt like this before, the odd twisting feeling in his stomach like there’s little worms crawling around inside. Not worms, maybe. Sirius feels distinctly ill when the butterfly analogy finally seems to hit home. It’s like there’s insects fluttering around in his stomach and making a blush creep up his neck when he remembers the way Benjy’s dark eyes had flickered across his- the curious tilt of his head, the safety pins glinting in his ears. Shining silver. Still embedded in Sirius’s head.

**r**

Remus is shit at keeping secrets, so if you asked him why he’d started up a habit which prompted another secret to be kept, he wouldn’t have a proper answer for you. In fact, he doesn’t even have a proper answer for himself. 

On the outside, he’s getting better. And he  _ is,  _ truly, he can eat again and sleep again. Those blinding headaches don’t leave him feeling suicidal with the hurt, and he can move around okay- there’s a lot less pain. Physical pain. Mentally, he’s still hurting. 

Sometimes he just gets so bloody  _ sad _ , sitting in bed at night and thinking about how truthfully miserable the future is going to be for him. It gets him down. So one night, in a fit of desperation, he had taken his pocket knife into the bathroom with him and experimentally pressed the sharp blade into his thigh, gasping quietly when the skin broke and blood beaded up in a new wound. 

It works, and that’s the worst part. At night, his thoughts get too loud. He’ll spend all day distracting himself- paying attention in class, hanging with his friends, reading books, planning pranks, tutoring the second years, but when all of that is over and he’s left with nothing to do, he gets miserable. Nothing will be able to turn off the steady flow of pessimistic, self hating thoughts that beat him down desperate enough to use the pocket knife Sion had gifted him over Christmas to add even more cuts and scars to his body.

But the sudden pain, the bubbling blood, the fresh red cuts left behind turn his mind blissfully blank. It becomes a nighttime routine- taking a shower, cutting up his thighs still damp from the hot water, taking his dreamless sleep draught, and then crashing in bed for a peaceful night of rest. The self harm makes him feel immensely calm, sort of the way fags do, and he latches on to that soothing feeling to pacify himself from the mental illness that won’t leave him be.

So on the outside, he continues to smile and laugh and act like nothing’s wrong because he doesn’t need another confrontation where Sirius will ask something like “are you cutting yourself?” all out of the blue and Remus won’t cry this time (no, he’ll never cry in front of them ever again) but he’ll be just as ashamed. 

Tonight is a good night, as they seem to become more and more plentiful. Remus had done some studying for Ancient Runes with Marlene, Lily, and Dorcas, while Mary and James had joined them to study separately for Arithmancy. It had been nice to sit and work without any distractions (namely Sirius), because James can get things done when he puts his mind to them, and after they finish their assignments, Dorcas takes a long look at Remus.

“Lupin, you need a haircut.” Remus instinctively touches his hair, brushing it self consciously out of his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s a bit long…” He responds, wary of the look in her dark eyes.

“You know,” she continues, leaning in a bit, “I’ve cut hair before.” 

“Ooh, yes!” Mary squeals excitedly. “Let’s give Remus a haircut!”

“Oh, let’s not!” Remus shoots a helpless glance at James, who is sitting back in his chair and watching with a wry smile on his face. 

“Just a trim.” Dorcas says, still frowning at him. “You look ridiculous.”

“Cheers.”

“You do need a trim, Remus.” Marlene adds unhelpfully, running her hand through his fluffy curls. “It looks a bit mad.” 

“Right, it’s decided! Haircut in the dorms! Let’s go!” Dorcas stands up purposefully, Mary right behind her. Marlene smiles knowingly at Remus who scrapes himself to his feet, admitting grudgingly that he is in bad need of a haircut but isn’t sure if Dorcas Meadowes is the first person he’d go to for it. 

“Coming?” Mary asks the still seated Lily, who looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Er, I was going to catch up on Arithmancy with Potter.” She explains quickly. There’s a hint of a blush in her face, but none of them comment.

“Suit yourself.” Mary tells her. Remus exchanges a look with James before leaving, one of the wordless ones that he and the marauders have developed so well. James’s brown eyes crinkle in a flashy smile- a look that says  _ look at me, all alone with Lily Evans! enjoy getting your hair cut by three girls!  _ Remus’s sly glance back says  _ enjoy Evans explaining to you the driest subject in the world. you’ll be wishing you were me. _

Then he turns his back and follows the girls out of the library, back up to the Gryffindor tower. Moira O’Brien is sitting on her bed reading some wizard fashion magazine with moving pictures on the front, and frowns when her roommates are accompanied by a Hufflepuff girl and Remus Lupin. 

“What are you doing?” She asks in a heavy Irish accent, eyebrows knit.

“Cutting Lupin’s hair,” Dorcas tells her dismissively. Remus gets the feeling that the girls don’t care for Moira all that much.

“Whatever, I’m out of here.” She mumbles, flipping the magazine closed and flouncing out of the dorm, pushing past Dorcas as she does so.

“Bitch.” Dorcas says loudly as soon as the door snaps shut. “I can’t wait to wring her  _ neck  _ one day, my god, so pompous and stuck up. God,” she shivers with anger, holding her hand out for a pair of silver scissors that Marlene hands to her.

“I dunno if we should do this if you’re in a bad mood.” Remus explains stupidly. “Don’t want you getting carried away.” Mary laughs at this. She’s sitting on the foot of her bed with her knees drawn up, looking down at the scene with interest. 

“It’ll be fine, why are you so nervous? I’ve been cutting my own hair here for three years, and it looks properly nice, doesn’t it?” Dorcas flips her long dark hair forwards over her shoulder. Remus concedes. She does have good hair. 

“On the floor, Lupin. And take off your jumper, it’ll get hair all over it.” Remus understands that further protesting will make the situation even worse, so he pulls off his jumper and does a once over of his own arms, sighing inwardly to see that the dark red marks on his pale wrists haven’t healed the way he’s wanted them to. And there’s the thick white scars that have been there for years- three slashes in an untidy row on his left forearm. 

The girls notice them, they must, but none of them mention anything, which Remus is thankful for. Dorcas sits down in front of him and gives him her impression of a reassuring smile.

“Just a trim.” Remus tells her, and she scoffs.

“I know, I know. Just sit back and enjoy the show.” Remus closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to see the hair fall down around him and listens to the sharp  _ snip snip snip  _ of the scissors around his head, and down his neck. Mary and Marlene have started giggling which does nothing to ease his anxiety.

“What shall I do about your bangs?”

“Ach, just leave ‘em.” Remus tells her. “Can you just cut down the back, maybe?”

“ _ I’m  _ the hairdresser,” is Dorcas’s response, and Remus gives up on instructing her. He sits and squirms nervously despite her “hold still”s and after what seems like ages, she pulls away from him. 

“Merlin, why are your eyes closed? I’m done, go look in the mirror.” Remus opens his eyes and looks first at the ground around him, which is covered in clippings of his own hair. In the bathroom, he realizes that she’s done a fine job after all. The overgrown bits have been trimmed, and he doesn’t look like he’s wearing a mullet anymore. And he can see, now. That’s a plus. But it’s still long, still 70s. 

“Looks good, Meadowes, cheers and everything. How many pounds is that?” She laughs, waving him off.

“A hundred, next time, for my fabulous work. This was just a test run.” 

“A test run, makes me feel safe.”

“It looks nice, doesn’t it?”

“It looks very nice.” Marlene agrees. She’s standing over her record player and Remus moves behind her, looking at the cover. It’s some ghastly looking muggle wearing eyeliner printed in harsh black and white. 

“Who’s this?”

“Lou Reed, he’s big over in America. Ollie has all sorts of records from there. He’s pretty cool, listen.” Marlene sets down the record and moves the needle over it, looking for a specific song. A classic guitar starts up and a very American sounding man starts singing about resurrection. 

“God, I love Americans.” Mary sighs as Marlene dances around the room, grabbing Remus’s arms and pulling them back and forth as she shakes her shoulders, mouthing silently along to the loud music. Her blonde hair sways over her face as she bounces around to the music, taking Remus with her around the dormitory. Dorcas and Mary are faux-waltzing and tripping all over each other with laughter while Lou Reed sings about things they don’t understand. 

Hangin’ Around ends, as does the dancing, and the four of them listen to the iconic Walk On the Wild Side while Marlene pulls out the lyric sheet, trying to make sense of a bunch of American pop culture references that not even Professor McGonagall could sit down and explain to them. 

**l**

“Alright, look. I drew up this chart to make it all easier, have you seen this?” Lily shoves her chart in front of Potter, who frowns down at it.

“Damn.” He remarks.

“Right.” She shifts a little closer to him and writes down his name underneath the chart. “So the first number for you would be one, for J. Then one again, for A.”

“But there’s J and A, so how can both of them be one?”

“It just works that way. Because then you reduce it, to get your personality number. And we can get your heart number, and your social number. Which predicts things.”

“Right.” 

“Here, I’ll do mine.” Lily writes her own name and starts attributing numbers to every letter. James looks on with intrigue. She adds up the numbers, adds them again, and one more time to get her own personality, heart, and social numbers. 

“Two, six, five.” Potter reads out loud as she copies down the numbers before turning to a page in her textbook. “Let me do mine.” He offers, writing down the details to his own name while Lily researches in the textbook. She’s always a bit on edge when Potter is serious around her because she can never tell when he’s being genuine, and is always worried that Black and Pettigrew will pop out from behind some table and spook her in imitation of some great prank.

Not tonight, apparently.

“Okay, grand, I’m seven, eight, eight. Blast, we don’t match for anything!” 

“We don’t have to match for it to make sense. Alright, let’s see what they mean… seven means you’re bright, perceptive, understanding, and you enjoy challenges.”

“Wow, Arithmancy makes some sense here!” Potter says cheerily, an arrogant grin on his face.

“ _ And  _ that you can be pessimistic, sarcastic, and insecure.”

“No, that sounds more like Remus. What’s the eight, then?” Potter is so quick to dismiss any negatives about him that Lily takes a moment to frown up at him. He stares cluelessly back at her and she tuts before returning to the textbook, following her finger on the page while reading. 

“Eight indicates the possibility of great success in business.”

“Smashing!” She continues on as though he hadn’t interrupted her at all.

“You can be practical, ambitious, committed, and hard working,  _ but _ -” she snaps before he can force another rude interruption upon her, “you’re unpredictable and have the potential to be either the pinnacle of success or the depths of failure.”

“Success.” Potter says simply without any hesitation. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, hair ruffled and messy, thick glasses sitting on the crooked bridge of his nose. “No doubt about it.”

“Sure.” Lily huffs, a little exasperated with his arrogance. Their lesson doesn’t last much longer. Potter gets distracted by some Ravenclaw friends of his and leaves Lily after a few minutes, giving her a friendly goodbye and a “see you tomorrow” that leaves her staring after him after he’s gone. James Potter. 

He brings noise with him- crowds and people and conversation that leaves Lily alone in the now properly silent library. Does she miss the energy he brings? She shakes her head, breaking herself out of her daze, and turns back to look at the Arithmancy notes. 

Another name sneaks its way into her mind and Lily glances around before writing it down, as though Potter is still glancing over at her notes in that halfhearted way he does so well, body a little too close to hers for comfort.

HYATT IBEX.

Lily lets out a long, low exhale after reducing all of his numbers. 6, 6, 9. Him and her have a matching heart number. Six. Six represents harmony, friendship and family life. Sixes adapt easily. They’re loyal, reliable, and loving. If the only downside to a six is complacency, then Lily Evans doesn’t second guess nature and the very odd foretellings of Arithmancy, especially not the next day when Hyatt comes and finds her in the courtyard. 

He’s very handsome. At some point, Marlene had pointed out that he resembled Potter in a way, but Lily had scoffed and said  _ as if  _ because Potter’s untidy and crooked except for that wild grin of his that can light up a room.

Hyatt’s smile is quirked and full-lipped, without that many teeth showing. His skin is a medium brown tone, lighter than Potter’s, and his hair is curly- dark brown with hints of gold in it. His nose is round and snubbed, not all crooked like Potter’s, and his eyes glow a caramel brown, very warm and bright. Potter’s eyes are very dark, almost black. 

“Hiya, Lily, how are we today?” Hyatt asks, beaming warmly at her. Well, he might wear his uniform the same way as Potter. He’s got his white shirt on, half untucked, tie loose around his neck. A black and red cloak is draped loosely around his shoulders. He tilts his head to catch her eyes and she can’t help but blush uselessly under his gaze.

“Great, how are you?”

“Doing well, but I’d be better if you’d come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend.” The invitation is so smooth that Lily nearly misses it, and she finds herself smiling despite herself. “You know, brighten things up before Easter hols. Leave me with something nice to think about.”

“Yeah, Hyatt.” She breathes, unable to wipe the silly smile off of her face. “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows disappear under the curls of his hair and his own smile widens into a huge grin. “Excellent! We’ll have some fun. Where are you off to?” She’s glad that he doesn’t mess around with formalities and get all gushy and stupid. He’s straight to the point.

“Er, Divination.”

“Shall I escort you?” He offers her his arm and she laughs before linking hers through. They set off through the castle together, giggling and talking loudly, and Lily wonders briefly if she might be dreaming. 


	40. [YR 3] Even in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love remus so much that i just gave him his own damn chapter. 3/3 of the gay awakenings because i'm unstoppable. also :'( cw for self harm
> 
> lyrics are from 'hot gates' by mumford & sons which is a beautiful song about loving someone going thru a hard time. as always, i recommend checking it out

_ and though we cry, we must stay alive _

**r**

Remus hates to admit it, but at the end of the day, he’s been sexually confused for a long time. 

He might have first realized it during winter holidays, when Sion moved close to him and pressed the damp washcloth against his split lip. There was some deep warmth in the boy’s dark eyes, something in his easy going confidence, his good humor, and his ability to talk about sensitive things up until a point where those things became pointless and he would know how to maneuver the conversation away. Easy to talk to, sort of gorgeous in his lean footballer’s body. 

Remus loved talking with Sion because every time the other boy’s eyes met his, he felt special and heard. As though Sion were a little too good for him and that it was some great feat for him to sit and listen to Remus John Lupin, Welsh werewolf with a penchant for self pity. 

Back at school without the muggles to remind him that there was another world for him outside of werewolves and suicidally awful depression, Remus had lost his way a little bit in terms of love. It had been because of the nightmares, essentially, where everyone he cared about had been torn to pieces in front of his eyes.  _ Through  _ his eyes, for god’s sakes. And it felt so much easier to push those people away: Sirius and his resolute grin, Marlene and her burning blue eyes, James and his unfailing compassion. Remus would just ruin them. 

It was because he knew them too well.

He doesn’t know Hyatt Ibex well at all, and that’s why he finds himself sitting with Lily in the Quidditch stands during a practice in late April, eyes fixated on the wrong player. 

Marlene has her hair braided in two twin plaits down her back and swears like a sailor up in the sky, smacking well aimed bludgers when prompted and flying so fast that she turns into a blonde blur of sheer power. Which is all fine and well, but Hyatt looks just as good, if not better, on his broom and Remus can’t look away.

Hyatt just looks confident on his broom, jaunty and exhilarated. His hair is blown back in a tousled mess and Remus fixates on his mouth as he shouts at James across the pitch. Next to him, Lily’s eyes are trained on the same person, and when Remus tries to follow her green eyed gaze, he mistakenly embarasses himself.

“Are you watching James?” He asks her, eyes widening in surprise when she jumps and swats at him familiarly. 

“No! God, no!” Her freckled face is bright with shock, and then softens into a more secretive whisper. “It’s Hyatt, actually. We’re sort of… together.” Now Remus is taken aback and feels sort of dirty for enjoying the show of Hyatt looking exceptionally fit on his broomstick in the afternoon spring air. 

“Oh, cool! Brilliant! Good for you.” Lily smiles at that, evidently pleased that he supports her romantic endeavors. 

“Thanks, Remus. I haven’t wanted to say too much about it to you lot because, well… hmm…” She hesitates now, looking thoughtful. “I mean, I’ve heard from multiple sources that Potter sort of fancies me. But he’s dating that Robinson girl, right?” At this, Remus feels particularly scandalized and like he’d rather not delve into this topic of conversation.

“Er.” Is most of what he can come up with. He hasn’t forgotten the slow discussion that took place in the girl’s lavatories second year, when James had been sitting drunkenly in a sink with a dopey smile gracing his face, waxing words of love all centered around Lily Evans. 

“Yeah, I suppose. He doesn’t talk about it with us.” Lily gives him a curious look, her green eyes flickering up and down his face in an attempt to break through his barrier of boy-talk secrets that she so desperately wants in on. “We don’t really talk about girls with each other.”

“Oh, so Black hasn’t confessed to you how bad he feels for that row with MacDonald?” In fact, Sirius hadn’t said much about his fight with Mary. It had been one of the many regretful things that Sirius had gotten away with and he had seemed to brush the topic off of his shoulder, not bothering to make up or apologize to her.

“Lily, that was more than a Mary thing. Him and his brother… well, they’ve got a very complicated relationship, really. I think him and Mary should move past it.”

“You would think.” Lily doesn’t say anything after that, and Remus finds that he has nothing to say anyways. The pair of them continue watching practice, both of their eyes loosely trained on Hyatt Ibex, neither of them finding it necessary to bring up topics of love any more.

Which is fine by Remus. He’s just frustrated. Marlene is beautiful but so is Hyatt, with his golden toned brown skin and the easy way he moves, like he’s never thought twice about being gorgeous. How is it fair? How can Hyatt Ibex stand with his back straight and his eyes twinkling while Remus Lupin is gawkily awkward, at least ten pounds underweight, and covered in self inflicted scars? 

The worst part is, there’s no one to talk to about this. Him and Sirius’s late night conversations have ceased, sadly, due to Remus’s new sleeping draughts. Sometimes he thinks about staying up all night long again, uncorking his old stash of Wideye potions and kicking up his feet with sleepless Sirius, but then wonders if that’s a bad idea. 

Because he knows he can’t bear another nightmare of him as the wolf, seeing his friends as nothing more than chew toys. Besides, he wouldn’t ever be able to talk to Sirius about this embarrassing sexuality stuff. Sirius and Mary are in an on and off relationship that Sirius doesn’t bother so much with. He’s entirely cool headed when it comes to girls, confident and self assured but never getting heart eyed over people, not even Mary.

Remus doesn’t know what Sirius would say, even. Would Remus say “I like blokes” and would Sirius screw up his face and laugh and call him a fairy, or a faggot, or never come visit the foot of his bed again? Christ, there had been that one night, second year, where they had slept side by side in Remus’s bed. Remus had been exhausted from crying his eyes out and an awful nightmare and then talking late into the night with Sirius. It hadn’t seemed strange at the time, falling asleep next to his best mate, but looking back on it, the whole situation seemed undeniably  _ queer.  _

These thoughts begin to plague Remus even more than his depression, which makes him wonder which one he’d rather deal with. When the stupid queer strange thoughts become too much to bear without spilling his feelings to someone, he goes down to Hogsmeade and limps a mile out of town to a payphone just to call up Sion and spill his guts to him.

“I think I’m queer,” he whispers in a strangled sort of way down the line, glad that Sion is miles and miles away from him right now.

“Huh.” Sion says, obviously thinking about it. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? What’s her name, Michelle?”

“Marlene.” Remus is quick to correct him. “Yeah, I do. And she’s brilliant, really. But, there’s this bloke.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he called?” The fact that Sion hasn’t denounced him for being a fucked up pervert seems to be a good sign, and Remus is running on relief.

“Hyatt. He’s lush, really. Oh my god, I sound like a bloody girl!” Sion laughs good naturedly, casually.

“That’s okay, it makes sense. You know…” He trails off conspiratorially. “You know the Sticky Fingers album cover?” Remus knows the Rolling Stones record well, having played the album a hundred times over. 

“Yeah.” 

Sion laughs before he speaks next, as though his own words are a little too ludicrous to believe. “Well, there’s some model who did the cover. It’s his crotch on it. And I’ve seen ‘im in magazines and all that, and, well… you know, sometime’s he’s just, well, he’s sort of gorgeous.”

“Is he?”

“Yeah.” Sion sighs heartily. Remus cannot believe that he’s having this conversation. “His name’s Joe, with some complicated last name, I can’t remember it. He’s an actor, too. I’ll post you a letter with a photo, okay? Don’t get too wild.”

“Christ, Sion!”

“Sorry, butt!” Sion’s laughing again, a little on the hysterical side, like he’s feeling similar disbelief. “God, how strange are we?”

“Aren’t we? Completely mentally fucked, wouldn’t you say!”

“Oh god, absolutely!” For a few minutes, they laugh with each other about how stupidly relieved they are that this conversation can come so easily. Remus wonders the reaction he would’ve gotten from Joseph or Stanley if he had called them instead of Sion, who’s apparently become his best mate. Muggle mate, at least. Sirius Black holds the title for best wizarding mate, if Remus would have to sit down and pick, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t like to think about ranking the people he cares about most in his life, just is grateful that he’s got one who’ll laugh with him and discuss crazy things like thinking boys are beautiful, sometimes, with no shame about it.

Shame, however, takes many forms. 

Remus comes to realize that self harm is a very inconvenient habit to have. He’ll spend all day with itching, stinging thighs from where his trousers rub against the fresh cuts. He’ll usually stick a few plasters on to stem the bleeding, but they bring everything into sharp, incisive clarity that he doesn’t like at all. And ripping them off hurts like nothing else. 

During the full moon in May, he breaks two ribs and spends a week in the hospital wing, paranoid and anxious that this long disappearance will be reason enough for Lily and Marlene to march into the hospital wing and ask him the same question that Sirius had- “Are you a werewolf?” It’s an anxiety that he’s been trying to quell for years now, and has returned full force with the restlessness of spending a week in the hospital wing.

Which, in fact, is the reason he hadn’t been able to continue his usual routine of cutting up his thighs. Without having access to fags or his pocket knife, Remus grows panicked beyond belief and has to contain his dry sobs in bed at night. There’s no outlet for him to release these bad feelings, and when he’s finally let out of the hospital wing, he thinks he could die from relief. 

Madam Pomfrey had been intent on him staying one more night, but Remus had heard none of it.

“Please, ma’am, I miss my bed, and my friends, and not having to talk to every blabbermouth sent in here for some spell gone wrong, and there’s only so many excuses I can come up with, and my lying hasn’t improved, and my mates will just pester you more and more, and I’ll  _ tell  _ them to make more noise coming back-”

“Fine, Remus!” Pomfrey had told him huffily, waving her hands in exasperation. She’s usually quite strict with people in the hospital wing- patients and visitors alike, but she reserves a soft spot for him. Ever since that first night in the shack where he had told her goodnight and sat with his small legs swinging from the edge of the bed. He’s growing up before her eyes and hurting just the same, if not more. “Just be gentle with yourself, okay? No racing around outside, get proper sleep, eat a big breakfast tomorrow-”

“Fruits and veg and protein, get enough vitamin D, I know!” Remus is already gathering up the stack of books that’s been slowly but surely ascending next to his bed. “Cheers, Poppy!” Madam Pomfrey is so surprised by the casual use of a first name that she has nothing to say to Remus as he limps quickly out of the room, going too fast for her liking.

Remus is moving quickly because he wants a fag first, and then is thinking about the release of pain and worry that’s associated with a blade in his skin. He’d missed dinner and is overwhelmed with relief when none of his friends are in the common room. The dorms are blissfully empty as well, and Remus feels like he could cry with happiness from the feeling that the first drag of the cigarette gives him. 

Nice fucking deal. 

The smoke calms him down and puts him in a thinking mood, a rational one, where he can think of badly executed lies for both Lily and Marlene about his long suffering mum that’ll get them to pity him. He finishes the fag and puts on Dark Side of the Moon before lighting up another one, holding the cigarette in his mouth as he sticks the needle on before wandering back across the room, swaying slightly to the music, glancing at the cover.

His chest still aches from the broken ribs, but it’s much better than it had been before. Upon waking up after the night of the moon, the pain it took to draw a breath had been so unbearable that he had held his breath long enough to pass out from asphyxiation. It hadn’t been much better in the hospital wing, where he sat drawing the shallowest of breaths so as not to disturb the bandages wrapped around his torso where he could feel his newly mended ribs throbbing.

“Hi, Moony, good to see you, mate. Could you not smoke that in the room?” James has appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted. Remus had been standing and examining the sleeve of the Pink Floyd record with a twist of cigarette smoke curling up towards the ceiling.

“Christ, sorry.” Remus waves away the smoke and steps back over to the windowsill, where he sits gingerly and winces a bit.

“How are you feeling? Ribs any better?” James sits down on the floor to order his textbooks and put his shoes back in neat order. Remus watches him curiously while smoking, wondering how someone could be so consciously tidy. If Remus were burnt out from a long day of lessons and Quidditch, he would have dumped his things all over the floor by his bed, not bothering where they ended up.

“Fit enough for Pomfrey to let me go.” 

“Good enough, then.” James flops down on his bed with a quill in his hand and a textbook open in front of him. More footsteps sound from the stairway and Peter and Sirius enter the dorms, the former looking embarrassed and the latter looking downright wicked. 

“Evening, lads. Moony, good to have you back!” Sirius exclaims, moving gracefully across the room to swipe his fag and take a long drag, crossing his blue eyes to see the shortening end burn orange before he exhales a long breath out the window. 

“Blast, you two are stinking up the dorms!” Peter complains, dutifully ignored by both of the boys smoking. They have a moment of long eye contact before Sirius hands the cigarette back to Remus and returns to his own corner of the room. The night passes as any normal night would, and around midnight, the boys say goodnight and draw the curtains on their four posters. 

Remus has this routine memorized. 

Peter’s always the first to fall asleep, you can tell because he snores. It’s a sound the three of them have gotten used to, and it only used to keep them up during first year. James is usually next, unless he’s behind on work, where he’ll set his lamp inside the curtains and light up the canopy while finishing up work. Remus can picture Sirius: lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. It takes Sirius hours to fall asleep, and his favorite position is sleeping on his side, one leg curled up and the other stretched all the way out.

Remus sits in bed and thinks about going for a quiet, late night shower, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to. He knows the moment he enters the bathroom, he’ll be flicking open the blade of the pocket knife and setting it straight to his thigh without any second thoughts. And for some reason, he doesn’t want to tonight. 

Maybe it had been the way Madam Pomfrey had looked at him and said  _ be gentle with yourself.  _ Not expecting him to add insult to injury- scarring an already badly battered body for no good reason at all. Yet he craves it badly. Now, it’s all he can think about, the rush of pain that clears every bad thought from his head. Blood red bliss. Remus’s hands are shaking. 

He makes to move off the bed, then thinks  _ no _ , then thinks  _ yes,  _ and then no again. Can’t make up his mind. He’s gone a week without it, why not celebrate? Cut a little deeper, add more angry red scars to mark up his skin, make it  _ hurt. _

Jesus fuck. 

Remus buries his face in his pillow and screams silently into it, unable to get the mental images of cuts beading blood and the silver of the blade out of his mind, thinking that he’s mentally fucking unstable and has got to get a grip on all these addictions he’s racking up. Fags, now cutting, what’s next? He doesn’t even want to think about it.

To tell the truth, he doesn’t want to think about anything but self harm and slides out of bed, finally, thinking of making for the bathroom. But once he opens the curtains on the darkened room, he sees a beacon of warm light glowing through the curtains drawn around James’s bed and moves there instead, like a moth drawn to a flame, opening the curtains without thinking about what he’s going to say once he stands uselessly in front of his friend. 

James is lying on his stomach with a textbook, a chart, and a very long piece of parchment strewn out in front of him. His lamp is sitting crookedly on the headboard, shining golden light all over his bed. There’s jars of multicolored ink propped up around him and his hair looks even untidier than usual- tousled in the front and gravity defyingly spiky in the back. Behind his glasses, there’s bags stamped underneath his dark eyes. 

Remus realizes in that moment that his friend is taking one of the hardest electives at school, is training for playing in the Quidditch Cup, and is also serving nightly detentions for hexing Snape into the hospital wing for reasons unknown to Remus. He looks dead on his feet, but selfless worry still swims in his eyes when Remus stands in front of him.

“What’s up, Moony?” Remus opens his mouth but no sound comes out, and he feels pathetically stupid while James sits up, levitating the inkwells so they don’t knock over. “You alright?” 

“Sorry.” Remus chokes, moving backwards. James casts the silencing charm before he can escape and Remus stands weakly with his back brushing the curtains, not knowing what to say.

“What’s wrong?” James asks, shutting his textbook.

“It’s nothing, it’s just, it’s nothing, it’s stupid.” James gives him a look of plain weariness. “Er, um.” Remus’s throat is tight and he feels ridiculous for even taking the first step towards James’s bed. He’d be better off in the bathroom, bleeding and relieved. “Erm, nevermind.”

“Remus, mate, just tell me what’s up.”

“Fuck,” Remus sighs, sitting shakily on the foot of his friend’s bed while James clears up his papers. Remus hadn’t meant for him to stop all his work, and is filled with regret after regret. 

“You might as well just tell me, or I’ll have to start guessing.” James doesn’t tell him he’s busy or doesn’t have time for this, but that’s clear enough from the situation at hand. Wordless. Remus is full of so many bad emotions that he thinks he’d rather die than discuss things.

“I’ve been cutting myself and don’t ask me why but I can’t stop and I… I can’t  _ stop  _ because it makes everything better and things have been getting better but none of it’s perfect and it feels better when I, when I do that, but maybe I’d  _ like  _ to stop but I just can’t- help- myself, and just- fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Okay, minimize the swearing, how about? You’re a werewolf, not a swearwolf.” They sit in a moment of tired silence before Remus bursts out laughing, rocking forward with his face in his hands, wondering where he’s found a friend as good as James. James whose face is split in a very tired smile, only laughing mildly at his own joke, because it’s not that funny for the person who’s worried. Remus’s laugh dies, the anxiety returns, and James frowns at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh god, don’t even start with the apologies, I’m not angry with you.” James runs an unnecessary hand back through his hair and sighs heavily. “What… what do you need me to do?” He asks, and Remus has no idea. No clue in the clear blue sky.

“I dunno.” He nearly whispers. “I just wanted to tell someone. Because I didn’t want to go do it tonight. Because I was about to. But I didn’t want to.” James watches him. “Because I can’t stop.”

“What do you use?”

“What?”

“To do it, what do you use?” Remus is well aware that James had vanished the razors in the bathroom, and his friend’s eyes flicker quickly towards his covered forearms and then up again. 

“A pocket knife.”

“What if you gave it to me?” Remus hesitates. “Would that help?”

“Yeah.” His voice is still a hoarse sort of whisper. “It’s a gift, though. It was a gift.” James’s eyes are too focused on him and he turns his face away from the boy, unable to meet his dark gaze. 

“I won’t keep it forever. Just until you feel better.” Remus feels like crying but has made a mental vow not to cry in front of his friends anymore, so holds back the tears in a way that puts awful, painful pressure on his chest.

“It’s just so stupid that I can’t keep it. It’s from my best mate back home.”

“But Moony, he wouldn’t want you using it to hurt yourself. He wouldn’t have given it to you to do that.” Fuck, he’s so right and it’s ridiculously painful. 

“Yeah. I’ll get it.”

“Well, just wait a mo’.” Remus busies himself by picking the threads on James’s blanket apart. “It’s… this…. it’s a coping mechanism, then? You feel bad, so you cut.”

“Mhm.”

“Okay.” James runs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

“It’s just, I had a routine, like. I would shower every night and then cut and it would make my head clear and then I would go to bed, and it would be nice. And now whenever I go to shower I’m just ready to do it, because that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Maybe shower in the mornings, then? Or during our free periods? When you’ve got less time, less stuff to think about?” Remus doesn’t reply. “Or when you want to do it, talk to someone? Like me!” 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t mind, you know. I care about you.” 

“Right.”

“Come on, Moony, I do.” Remus looks up at him through red eyes. 

“I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“You’re not a bloody nuisance, you’re my friend, and if you’re hurting then it’s a bad thing. I’m always here. I don’t ever mind. We don’t have to talk about it, we can talk about anything. We can do schoolwork, if you want. I can talk Quidditch! Anything that might help!” James is so bright about this that Remus feels a tiny glimmer of hope in his chest. “Do you want a hug, Moony?”

“No.” Sullen, stupid.

“Piss off, yes you do.” James hops off the bed and nearly tackles Remus sitting at the edge of it, wrapping him in a full-body type, tight hug that doesn’t let up until Remus hugs him back, still holding back tears and more grateful than he could ever know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheww sorry for the sadness but also here's your reminder that i would die for anyone who leaves comments & feedback and i appreciate everyone reading so much ❤️
> 
> and because i'm portraying some of my own issues through poor old remus, here's some info about self harm recovery for your perusal 
> 
> [recovery from self harm](https://www.themix.org.uk/mental-health/self-harm/steps-to-self-harm-recovery-5697.html)


	41. [YR 3] Thought We'd Live Forever

_ we spilled our guts to one another and compiled them all together and we all shared the same heart _

_ until that night it got way too serious, and you showed me your damaged wrists _

_ and you broke down and we embraced _

_ and nothing at that time meant more to me _

**m**

When Remus returns from his week-long absence, Marlene is so caught up with the trials and tribulations of training for the Quidditch cup that she doesn’t have much time at all to ask him about what had happened. He just turns up one morning, like usual, walking side by side with Potter into the Great Hall and sitting down next to her at breakfast like he hadn’t been gone a week.

Marlene had asked Black, Potter, and Pettigrew about what had happened to Remus, and was always met with the same dismissive response that his mum was ill. Apparently, she’s properly ill, because leaving school in the middle of revision period begs something rather serious.

“Hiya!” She says when Remus carefully sits down next to her. “How are you? How’s your mum?” Remus shrugs, his face drawn and stoic.

“She’s not well.” He glances across the table at Potter, who looks oddly sensitive for a moment, before breaking into a familiar beam. He starts loading up a plate and shoves it in front of Remus, who looks down at the food with detached disdain.

“So, McKinnon, practice today! Have you practiced the bludger backbeat?” Marlene’s momentarily distracted by the change in conversation topics, but comes to understand that Remus doesn’t want to talk about his mum, and she respects that.

“I’m still working on the backhand, but I think I’ll have it down by the end of the day. Rosa’s going to teach me it. Shacklebolt and Fletcher are good, though, really good.”

“I bet they’re saying the same thing about you and Corrals,” Potter tells her in a way that works wonders for her self confidence. He continues the Quidditch talk all through breakfast and she lets herself get sucked into it- excited about the final match for the Quidditch Cup taking place on Saturday. 

Still, Remus is her bloody boyfriend and she can’t just go ignoring the fact that his mum may or may not be dying. After Herbology class, when everyone else heads back to the castle for lunch, she asks if he’d like to take a walk around the grounds with her. 

They talk about casual things at first, skirting around the topic of him going missing for a week, but Marlene finds the conversation banal.

“Remus, if you ever want to talk about what’s going on with your family, you know I’m here.” They’re wandering aimlessly down towards the lake, swinging their clasped hands with lazy familiarity. Remus doesn’t respond at first. He’s never good with serious conversations.

“Thanks, Marls…” He sighs, distantly. His eyes are focused on the lake stretching out in front of them and he squeezes her hand a little tighter. “Life can just be bloody fucking difficult.”

“Yeah.”

“My mum…” Remus drifts off again, moving his lips with no words coming out. “Well, nevermind.” 

“Is she going to be okay?” Marlene asks gently, and Remus frowns out at the lake, biting hard at his lip. 

“I hope so. I dunno.” Remus lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment. Marlene’s starting to get the idea that there’s something he’s holding back from telling her, and she just wishes he could get it out. “Well, anyways. We’d better get back up to the castle. I’ve got Runes work to finish.”

“Right…” Marlene wishes that he would trust her with whatever was weighing on him, but he gives her an attempt at a reassuring smile as they walk back up to the castle, and she knows that whatever secret he’s harboring will stay kept. For now, at least. 

She’s busy for the rest of the week and Remus doesn’t disappear again, so as long as she sees his face at least once a day, she’s fine. Izzy has them practicing every day for the final match and Marlene tries her best to forget the feelings that had come up in the changing room, the ones that had left her wandering dazed and stupid around the castle thinking about her pigtails and her smile and her  _ collarbones.  _

On Friday night, the evening before the final match, Marlene spends the day thinking about nothing but Quidditch. She ends up in an impromptu team meeting in the common room after dinner, where all of them end up in a loose circle while Izzy discusses plays with them and draws out her planned maneuvers on a little chalkboard. 

Marlene ends up following Potter and Black upstairs to the dorms because the three of them are still talking about Quidditch plays with no intention of stopping, and once Potter finally stops running his mouth, all of them seem to draw the realization that it’s late at night and Marlene McKinnon is sitting up in the boy’s dorms like it’s anything normal. 

But none of them seem to care very much.

Peter offers her a candy and she takes it, rolling the cherry flavored drop around on her tongue, staining her lips and tongue deep red. Remus puts on a record and sits next to her on the foot of his bed, an arm loose around her waist while she talks with Potter, Black, and even Pettigrew about Quidditch. It feels familiar, sitting up there with the boys, engaged in sports talk like she’s one of them. They don’t treat her differently for being a girl.

It’s well after midnight by the time Potter suggests getting some sleep, even though all three of them on the team know that they’ll be tossing and turning all night long. Remus walks her out the door and gives her a sweet kiss before saying goodnight. 

Marlene creeps back into the dark girls’ dormitories to find that Mary is still awake. She can see her wandlight through the curtains and tiptoes across the floor to draw them open. The dark skinned girl is reading a book, casually, all tucked up and cozy in bed. She smiles at the sight of Marlene and sits up a bit, sticking a bookmark in the pages.

“Hiya, I was waiting up for you!” She whispers, gesturing for Marlene to sit down. She does, and draws the curtains back around her. 

“Why?”

“Dunno, just wanted to wish you good luck before the match. I reckon you’ll be up early tomorrow?” Marlene feels a warm pang of gratitude for her friend. 

“Thanks, Mary, that’s really sweet of you. I’ll need all the luck I can get.” Mary shakes her head at that, looking knowledgeable.

“I think you’ll be brilliant.” 

Marlene sleeps well that night, despite her late night antics, and joins the rest of the team at breakfast before making their way down to the pitch to warm up for the match. Time seems to move faster before a game, somehow, and it seems that Marlene’s only been warming up for minutes by the time students come streaming down from the castle. Izzy gives them a brief but inspirational group talk in the changing rooms, and before any time passes, they’re striding out onto the pitch in their house robes to a roaring crowd.

Madam Hooch brings the two teams together and Izzy shakes hands with Hufflepuff’s captain- Matty Boot. It’s unsettling to see faces that Marlene’s gotten to know while playing illegal Quidditch under the moonlight- Matty, Kingsley, and Dorcas, of course. She winks wickedly at Marlene, who sticks her tongue out at her, trying to keep herself feeling in a good mood without letting the nerves get to her. 

Hufflepuff’s beaters are known as being absolutely ferocious, and Marlene looks the pair of them up and down, swallowing hard as Hooch tells them she’s expecting a clean game. Janet Fletcher is a stocky ginger fifth year who eyes Marlene with an unreadable expression. Kingsley, thankfully, knows her and gives her a nod. She nods back.

And then they’re off.

Marlene and Rosa follow Izzy’s instructions right off the bat (if you get the pun) and Rosa does a loop in the middle of the pitch while Marlene flies up high to get a vantage point of what’s going on. It’s apparent that Hufflepuff is going for all out aggression, and Marlene quickly puts herself in the middle of the fray, whacking countless bludgers back away from Nate, who’s being targeted as well as James, leaving Hyatt to fend for himself, which simply won’t work. Sirius is quick on a broom, though, and blocks goal after goal. 

Marlene is in the middle of a painful battle with Kingsley over who can hit the bludger harder at the other when Fabian Prewett shouts- “Finally! First goal of the game goes to Meadowes of Hufflepuff!” Marlene pulls up on her broom, breathing heavily, her arm already tense with exertion. Izzy flies up to her, taking a lap side by side around the pitch.

“You need to stop defending Neary,” she instructs Marlene, mouth moving to talk to her but eyes shifting quickly around the pitch, always in search of the snitch. “He’s proving useless, either he’ll start working with Hyatt and Potter or he won’t. Go after Meadowes and Smith. If you see Boot make a move, get at him.”

“And Rosa?” Marlene asks, watching the tanned skin girl nearly knock Genevive Abbott off of her broom with a well aimed bludger.

“Rosa knows what to do,” Izzy says, and then takes a soaring dive down the pitch, having spotted the snitch. Marlene tries not to let that get to her, as if  _ she  _ doesn’t know what to do, but Rosa’s a seventh year and she’s four years younger so okay, maybe Rosa doesn’t need to be told how to play properly. 

Although Marlene loves the game and takes it seriously, she has trouble trying to upend one of her best friends and instead takes after Alan Smith, one of Hufflepuff’s chasers. Rosa takes after Boot, making sure that he can’t move enough, but this just lets Dorcas and Genevive score. Marlene is busy fending off bludgers from Hufflepuff beaters who seem to be doing a much better job of their jobs than she is. Rosa, at least, is performing well.

The only goal scored by Gryffindor had been pulled off wildly by Hyatt, since both James and Nate are busy trying not to get whacked off their brooms. It’s only when Hufflepuff scores three more goals in under twenty minutes that Izzy has enough. 

“Time out!” Izzy screams over the roaring of Hufflepuff fans. She gestures at Madam Hooch and makes a T with her hands. They all hit the ground hard and Izzy doesn’t waste time as she starts talking. Not shouting, really, but she’s angry and trying to get her points across. “Nate, you  _ need  _ to stop being scared.” The second year is red faced and sweating. James and Hyatt stand on either side of him like protectors. 

“Their beaters are  _ tough- _ ”

“Yes, Neary, they’re tough and mean and strong but you’re a bloody chaser and this is the final match! Ibex, good on you for that goal, but you three need to pull together. I want to see you three do a Parkin’s Pincer with Potter flying in the middle, okay?” The three chasers nod. “If that works out, keep on with it and try a Hawkshead formation next. Communicate!” Izzy then turns to Sirius, who looks bashful.

“Black, you were doing well at first, and I know they’re tough, but you’ve got to stay alert.”

“I know.”

“Don’t slip up, just keep your head on straight. McKinnon, Corrals… you need to see what tactics they’re using and address them the best you can. It’s hardest for you two, I know, but we can do this. Try a Dopplebeater Defense if you want to show them who’s boss.” Izzy looks at them all before nodding. Her hair is tousled from the wind and though she’s shorter than all of them, even young Nate, she radiates power. 

“Let’s win this. For us. For Gryffindor. For training every fucking day until we dropped, for sitting at breakfast this morning and knowing we were going to win.” She pauses for emphasis. “Or just for the bloody afterparty, yeah? Let’s kick Hufflepuff arse.” 

It’s safe to say that Izzy’s pep talk kicks them back into top gear and James scores twice after two perfect chaser maneuvers that get Izzy shouting with pride. The game is long and hard fought, back and forth between the strongest teams of the year and Marlene thinks  _ Merlin, they don’t call it a final match for nothing.  _ Shacklebolt has superhuman strength and their chasers are so fast that Marlene continuously finds herself overwhelmed by everything happening. 

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been playing by the time she sees Izzy falling. 

At least, it looks like she’s fallen, but then Marlene realizes it’s a Wronski Feint when Matty Boot nearly crashes into the mud and spends a few moments regaining his composure. Izzy is flying like a force of nature, flying flat on her broom, arm out in front of her, hair blowing in a wild golden tangle behind her as she snatches the whizzing gold snitch out of the air and screams in wordless triumph as she holds her clenched fist over her head- her trophy the small golden ball held tightly in it.

“ _ YES _ !” Black shouts, his voice hoarse from screaming the whole match. His hair is in disarray, half flattened by the keeper’s helmet, and his usually pale cheeks are flushed brightly with emotion. The teams are back on the ground in a moment, shouting and laughing and jumping. There’s so much happening that Marlene can’t really keep it straight: the crowd is roaring maniacally, Izzy has Hyatt in a hug so tight that it looks like a vice grip, Corrals is jumping up and down with her body pressed closed to Marlene’s, and Potter is absolutely  _ sobbing  _ with joy. 

Gryffindor house has overwhelmed the pitch and Rosa wraps an arm around Marlene’s shoulders as the crowd swarms around the seven members of the Quidditch team, cheering and shouting. Little Nate Neary looks overwhelmed but Potter keeps him close to his side, and the seven of them turn into six when Izzy is lifted by the crowd, hoisted up like a crowd surfer at a concert and Marlene could die right there at the sight of her. 

Hair in those trademark pigtails, cascading golden down her shoulders, cheeks round and red from laughter, eyes glinting in the sunlight, smile so wide that it could duel the sun and win any day. Izzy’s carried off by the crowd and Marlene relaxes into Rosa’s half hug, only to be hauled away by Potter who gives her a hug so strong that she can feel her joints creaking under his embrace. 

“We did it, Marlene!” He shouts roughly, not bothering for the complications of last names. “We’ve won the bloody cup!” Marlene hasn’t made any noise since the match ended, doesn’t know how because she’s never been able to shout as loud as anyone else, but Mary MacDonald is the next to drag her aside and shout her praise. Marlene listens to everyone being loud- Black, Potter, Mary, Rosa, Hyatt,  _ everyone,  _ and loses herself in the blur of loud, good cheer. 

She doesn’t stop to look around for Remus until they’re headed back to the castle to begin the after party. He’s trailing behind talking to a downcast looking Dorcas, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted as he listens to the girl rant so Marlene can’t see his face. She watches him listen in that way he does so well- all eye contact and nods and “mhm”s always at the right time, and wonders if what she’s feeling is jealousy or disdain.

_ He hadn’t even said congratulations. He’s comforting Dorcas, who lost, instead of you, who won.  _

Marlene stares only a moment longer before Black wraps a strong arm around her shoulder and tugs her along, singing the Gryffindor house song at the top of his lungs.  _ Fuck it,  _ Marlene thinks, tilting her head back to catch the last golden rays of sunlight. She sings along and Black grins at her when she pipes up, trying to match his volume. 

“Gryffindor, oh Gryffindor, where the brave dwell at heart! Our daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart!” Marlene is carried up to the castle in a crowd of singing friends. Who gives a toss if Remus wants to trail behind and mope with the losers? Tonight, Marlene’s on fire. Tonight, she’s won. 

**s**

After more than a few spiked Butterbeers and two hours spent dancing, singing, and progressively getting more and more tipsy, the only face Sirius wants to see is Remus Lupin’s. Who, coincidentally, has disappeared from the party.

“Have you seen Remus?” He loudly asks Marlene, who’s been following Izzy around all night with a huge plush lion hat jammed on top of her blonde hair. She must’ve had her fair share to drink, because her pale face is flushed and her movements seem a little too variable to suggest that she’s been unaided in sobriety.

“Nah!” Marlene calls back, apparently having nothing else to say. After a lap around the buzzing common room, Sirius concludes that Remus has made his departure, and he jogs up the stairs to the dormitory to find the boy inside, lying on his bed. His records are in disarray because Peter had brought half of them down to play during the party, and James’s record player is downstairs amongst all the vinyl, so there’s nothing to listen to. Remus isn’t reading, either. Just lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

The room is oddly quiet, but the loud thumping of music from down in the common room carries through into their dormitory. 

“What’s wrong, Moony, not up for a party?” Remus’s amber eyes lazily meet Sirius’s. His face softens, and his lips quirk in a halfway smile. 

“Got a bit overwhelmed, like. Lots going on.” Remus sits up slowly, tilting his head back and forth to send cracks down his neck that make Sirius shiver. Both Remus and Marlene have nasty habits of cracking their joints to hell and back, and Sirius can’t count the number of times that Marlene’s begun Quidditch practice by turning all of the joints in her knuckles into noisemakers. 

“And here I thought you were a party animal!” Sirius cheers, flopping down onto Remus’s bed as the other boy turns so his feet dangle down over the side. He’s wearing muggle corduroy trousers and a striped t-shirt. Sirius only glances at his arms for a moment, catching the sight of thick cuts on his forearms, and frowns. They must be from the moon, he assures himself. Remus either doesn’t notice or acknowledge Sirius’s drop in energy, and he gives him a curious glance.

“So? Why aren’t you basking in your glory?”

“Missed you,” Sirius tells him warmly. “I suppose you’re up here mourning your records.”

“Oh, yeah. Said a prayer to the vinyl god and everything, I hope they make it back alive and unscratched.” Remus crosses himself and Sirius laughs, still buzzy with alcohol and the sheer glory of winning. He bounces a bit on Remus’s mattress, obviously itching to go  _ do  _ something, and Remus spares a curious glance at him. “You’re hyper.”

“We’re  _ partying,  _ Moony, come on, I don’t want you to mope up here! What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Remus mumbles dismissively. Sirius understands that yes, sometimes sadness can’t be helped, but now is not the time for some long, drawn out conversation about feelings and things that can’t be changed right here and now. 

“Good, then, grand. Great. Excellent. Brilliant!” Sirius can’t stop talking and grins at Remus, feeling excited and like all his nerve endings have been twisted into bright bolts of energy. This is how James must feel all the time. Quidditch is amazing and it’s so much better when you win  _ everything!  _ Sirius would never give it up, not now, not  _ ever _ , really. Maybe he should play professionally? 

“Come on, then, if nothing’s wrong then you can give us a dance.” Sirius grabs at Remus’s hands, pulling the scrawny boy to his feet. Remus looks a bit sheepish but his expression moves from timid to hesitant, and he lets go of Sirius’s hands, biting at his lip anxiously. This is beginning to put a damper on Sirius’s mood.

“Unless something’s really wrong?” He asks Remus, who does a shrug/shaking head motion that makes him look halfway epileptic.

“I just don’t want to be in a crowd right now, really. Rather be alone.”

“You want me gone?”

“No, you’re okay. I just don’t want to be surrounded, and it’s all loud, and… ugh. I’m sorry, go down and party, I don’t want to ruin it.” Sirius will hear no such thing.

“Nonsense. Third year is basically over, Moony. This is our last party! You’re not spending it alone up here.” Remus’s gaze turns as good as pleading, but Sirius isn’t planning on dragging him down to sit in the middle of party goers wearing crimson and yellow, dancing and singing and shouting. “Come on.” Sirius grabs his friend’s hand and pulls him out of the dorms, through the party, and out of the portrait hole into the oddly silent hallway.

Remus doesn’t ask where they’re going, and just follows along behind him. When they reach the top of the Astronomy tower, Sirius turns around with arms half outstretched in a familiar expectant position, looking at Remus.

“Nice and quiet! Nice and… dark?” 

“Mhm.” Remus responds quietly, situating himself on the stone at the edge of the tower, legs dangling precariously over the edge. Sirius sits down messily, laughing a bit as he falls unceremoniously onto the floor, and Remus looks up with a half smile as he wraps his arm around Sirius, pulling him close to him. “Christ, don’t fall. How much have you had to drink?” 

“Plenty. And look, I’ve brought more!” Sirius is still wearing his Quidditch robes and produces a nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey that he nicked from Edgar Bones’s supply. 

“No way.” Remus’s eyes are the same warm amber color as the liquor, and Sirius lets him have the first swig out of the bottle. They drink themselves into giddiness and they’re young, fourteen year olds out on the Astronomy tower when they should be at a party, and finish the bottle before they set to talking.

“Show me your star.” Remus says, squinting up at the sky. “Sirius.”

“It’s the brightest one in the sky, find it yourself.” Remus gawks his neck, leaning even further out, and Sirius twines his right arm around Remus’s left one to make sure he doesn’t fall. Or, if he does fall, he’ll go down with Sirius. Never alone.

“Nah, can’t find it. Oh wait!” Remus turns, his scarred face split in a wide grin. “You’re right here! Don’t even need a telescope!” He says it  _ telyscope,  _ all Welsh and half cut and Sirius grins at him, happy to have him there. He thinks he’d rather sit up here with Remus over anyone else.

“Your poor brother, eh? You’re the brightest star in the sky and what’s he?”

“Brightest in the Leo constellation. Lion’s heart.” Sirius tells him with no hesitation. 

“And  _ you’re _ the Gryffindor?” Remus laughs, and Sirius joins in. “Is he a Leo, like?”

“No.” Sirius replies, thinking fondly of their endlessly hilarious classes stuffed up in the Divination tower where they always end up smelling like incense and light headed from the hazy classroom. “A Virgo.” 

“Hmm, Virgos… do you believe in that stuff? Astrology, whatever?” Sirius leans his head against the taller boy’s shoulder, his arm still wound up with Remus’s.

“Yeah, honestly. Don’t make fun of me. Mary used to read me the muggle astrology reports every week from her newspapers. Sometimes they made sense.”

“What’s she?”

“Mary?”

“Yeah.”

“A Leo. We’re not really compatible. Drama queens, apparently.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Remus doesn’t criticize what Sirius had done wrong in his brief relationship with Mary. Sirius hasn’t apologized and she hasn’t tried to make up with him. He leaves it, thinking they’re better off as friends. And he doesn’t get that butterfly feeling in his gut when he looks at her, that odd twisty feeling that came when he took a good look at Benjy Fenwick in the moonlight. He loves Mary with the passion of a friend, and has come to realize that there’s nothing more there for her. 

“D’you think we’re compatible?” Remus muses drunkenly.

“We are.” Sirius tells him, because he’d checked during Divination. “Scorpios are best with other water signs.”

“Are they? Not Aries?” Sirius shrugs, thinking briefly of James. 

“We don’t need astrology to make us get along. We just click.”

“Maybe it’s the moon signs.”

“Yeah,” Sirius snorts. “Maybe.” They sit in silence for a moment, but they’re both tipsy and have things that they want to say.

“Good job, today. That was brilliant, seeing you all win.” Remus tells him.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Not really… you looked so happy. When Adams caught that snitch, it was like someone turned the sun’s brightness up. You were all so  _ thrilled.  _ It was brilliant.” Sirius thinks yeah, he was high on adrenaline and screaming triumph out of the raw exhaustion and fear that had kept him throwing himself in front of quaffles and bludgers- fearless. He’s not afraid now, not running on anything but love and whiskey. 

“Thanks.” Sirius looks up at Remus. His hair is a fluff of curls and there’s a soft, content expression on his face. Sirius’s eyes flicker up and down his scars and for a moment, just a fleeting second, he feels a warm twist in his belly. He pushes it down, passes it off as being drunk, and looks down to see that Remus has unintentionally knitted their joined hands together. 

Sirius looks at his arm and those three white slashes on it. Then at fresher cuts, red and raw on his skin. 

“Did you get those during the moon?” He asks for reasons unbeknownst to him. Remus looks away from the stars and moon and then down at his own scarred arm.

“Oh, no.” Remus frowns, untwining his hand from Sirius’s and running his other hand over the cuts. “Nah, I did that myself.” Sirius doesn’t know what he means, and Remus sighs very loudly and dramatically before tilting his head back upwards and running his hand along his cheek and jaw, along the scar that bridges down his neck. 

“You cut yourself?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Sirius watches Remus, watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat, watches the way he fidgets with his hair, runs his hand over the scar splitting his jaw. 

“I’ve stopped, now. I was at it for a bit, a few months, but I’m done.” 

“Oh, good. That’s good.” Sirius doesn’t know what else to say, but Remus bridges that gap with even more uncomfortable information.

“I tried to kill myself in February.” 

“Did you?” Sirius doesn’t feel much about this, it’s just like Remus is telling him an unpleasant story.

“Yeah.” Remus says in an oddly pitched voice. “It was sort of surreal.”

“What happened?”

“Dunno, I was sad. Really bloody fucking sad. I just didn’t want to see the next day. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do a thing without it all hurting. Cut up my wrists and all, whatever. Pomfrey healed the scars, now.” He frowns down at his forearms. They’re littered with cursed white cuts and scars that the wolf has dealt, and those natural red cuts that came from a blade crafted by a muggle, not knowing that a young werewolf would end up cutting himself with it. 

“I’m sorry, Moony. I’m glad you’re here. Glad you told me.” Sirius wraps his arm around Remus now and the other boy leans into the sideways hug, knocking his head against Sirius’s and giggling uselessly. Sirius rests his head against the sharp crook of Remus’s shoulder and the taller boy rests his head on top of the others’. 

“It’s been a hard year.” Remus says.

“Next year will be better.” Sirius doesn’t know if he’s going to be right, but it’s the proper thing to say and he’s on his way to believing it. 

“Yeah,” Remus mumbles, eyes starry and dark as he gazes up at the moon. “Yeah, it will be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's a wrap on third year! i'm really enjoying writing these characters as they grow up and i'm currently writing the end of their fourth year, so the contrast between this chapter and the one i'm writing is so interesting to see. 
> 
> as always, major thanks to everyone for leaving feedback and the nicest comments ever! hearing what everyone has to say gets me super inspired to write, so once again, many thanks. ❤️


	42. [HOLS '74] Don't Chalk Me Up To Anything Less Than Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i should just put a content warning for walburga in general bc she's just an awful menace to read about. always doing some shitty stuff. here's your walburga cw!

_does it make you feel better knowing you got the best of me?_

_i can be replaced_

**reg**

Regulus hadn’t had much of a memorable second year. 

He struggled through most of his classes, save Potions, and only really scraped by because of Barty Crouch Junior, his best mate, who’s an absolute menace of intelligence and had kept Regulus afloat throughout the school year. So when Regulus returns home with barely average marks, he’s surprised when his parents seem decently pleased with the work he’s done. The four of them eat supper together on the boys’ first night back from Hogwarts, and Regulus bears it as best he can, as does Sirius. 

“You’ve done rather well in Potions, Regulus, haven’t you?” His mum asks, and Regulus nods.

“Yeah, it’s easiest, I think. All you have to do is follow the recipe, or instructions.”

“You should teach a lesson to your brother!” Walburga continues, half joking, but Sirius gives her an unnoticed dirty look before pulling a face across the table at Regulus, crossing his eyes and poking out his tongue for just a moment. Orion shoots him a look that gets him to stop, but he gives Regulus another silent smile. 

Family dinners often take place like this. Sirius and Regulus will make silent conversation across the table, usually making faces or communicating with their eyes, and Orion will usually pick up on what they’re doing but ignore it for everyone’s sake. Walburga is the only one continuously talking- parading over the topics of conversation and being the one to dole out the questions. 

“Sirius is great at Defense Against the Dark Arts, though, our professor brought him in to tutor us in charms.” Regulus offers in meek support of his brother, who looks at him curiously from across the table. 

“Who was your professor this year?” Walburga asks.

“Charlotte Pollock.” Regulus offers. Sirius often sits silently for most of dinner unless he’s prompted to speak, and then he usually runs his mouth by saying something regretful. “She was sort of… unconventional.”

“She was a hippie.” Sirius mumbles, poking the chicken on his plate. “Very peace-loving. She looked like she belonged in a field of flowers, smoking a spliff, wouldn’t you say? Wore this huge necklace with a massive peace sign on it. Leftover lover from the ‘60s.” None of them quite know how to reply to him.

“Is she teaching next year?” Orion asks into the silence. 

“No,” Sirius continues thoughtfully, “she had other desires to follow. Probably raising chickens in the country.”

“A pity, the one professor who found any redeeming qualities in you has given up.” Walburga tells Sirius sharply. His sigh comes out as sort of a well disguised hum, and he keeps his eyes fixated on his plate so he doesn’t catch the glare that Walburga fixes him with. She changes the topic dubitably, moving on to another matter that Sirius won’t enjoy. “Bellatrix told me that she’d be glad if either of you were to attend a rally with her.”

“A rally?” Regulus asks.

“One of the Dark Lord’s. She’s very invested in the politics, as is Rodolphus, and it might be good for you two to do the same. It’s paramount to stand up for your passions, especially ones as important as these. She told me there’s one next week, and she’d love to take you boys along.” Regulus tries to meet his older brother’s eyes but is dutifully ignored. 

“Sure,” he tells his mother instead, not knowing what else to say. “Sure, I’ll go. Seems interesting.” 

“Wonderful!” Walburga beams appreciatively at him, and Regulus feels a warm sense of pride for making a decision that pleases her. 

“I’ve heard these… rallies sometimes turn violent.” Orion puts in, earning twin frowns from Walburga and Regulus. Now that he’s agreed to go and has earned the approval of his mother, he feels a little bit excited, even, to join in with the pureblooded rebellion that Bellatrix has blazed the warpath down. Regulus doesn’t know why his father seems against the idea of him attending, but it’s clear that he won’t have his way.

“I’ll be careful, dad.” Regulus tells him at the same time that Walburga says:

“Sometimes violence is justified.” Sirius and his father exchange a wide eyed glance before Orion turns back to look at Regulus. 

“As long as you’re careful. I’m sure Bellatrix will look after you.” Regulus doesn’t reply to that and just nods, trying to tune out the angry conversation that dawns when Walburga says “Sirius, it would be good for you to go as well.” Their argument ends dinner for the night and Sirius sits stiff backed at the dinner table, asking to be excused after every insult that Walburga imparts upon him while she ignores his pleas until Orion finally gives in and lets him return to his room.

He’s lost the momentary humor and doesn’t meet Regulus’s eyes as he storms out of the dining room. Regulus sits around to drink tea and eat biscuits with his parents, engaging them in conversation about school and more importantly, his friends. Well, his mum wants to know about his friends and the social circles he’s involved in. She’s very pleased to know that he’s friends with sons of Rosiers and Scabiors.

“You’ve done much better than your brother at finding respectable friends.” His mum tells him proudly. 

“Thank you.”

“I’ll write Bellatrix and tell her you’re interested. I think the rally is later in the week.”

“Okay, brilliant. Thank you for dinner- mum, dad. May I be excused?”

“Of course.” Regulus kisses his mum on the cheek before exiting the dining room and follows in his older brother’s footsteps up the stairs to the humid attic. He hesitates outside Sirius’s door to gather his thoughts, but is surprised to hear his brother’s voice coming from inside. Is he talking to himself? Regulus knocks loudly on the door and opens it to see Sirius in the middle of a desperate scramble, looking flustered and upset.

“What do you want?” Sirius snaps as Regulus closes the door gently behind him, ignoring the aggression from his brother. Sirius had taken to decorating his walls with stationary cut pictures from muggle magazines and his dark walls are becoming completely overtaken by posters. His brother is sitting on his bed looking frustrated.

“Were you talking to yourself?”

“Yup.” Sirius tightens his lips and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“You know, if you came to the rally, mum would be really pleased.”

“I’m not looking to please her.” Sirius is being very short and Regulus is overtaken with a very familiar frustration. Sirius is always on and off with him- sometimes in a good mood, joking around and being the cool older brother that Regulus has always idolized, but sometimes he’s angry and cold, never in a mood to have a single kind thing to say. Today is one of the bad days. He’s having more and more of them, lately.

“Sirius, just to get her off of your back. You can just say you’re coming, and go off into muggle London, if you’d like.” Regulus doesn’t understand why his brother makes things so hard for himself. If he just pretended, even, things would be easier for him and he would escape the wrath of their mother. It’s not like Regulus understands why she dislikes him, but he chalks it up to something like pride and just a tinge of narcissism. 

“I’m not coming.” Sirius retorts sharply. “I’ll never support Voldemort’s ideals, and you have to understand that. I won’t even pretend. It’s sickening, what he does. Sickening.” His grey eyes are biting. “How can you justify killing innocent people?” 

“I’m not _killing_ them.”

“Voldemort is! Bella’s got to be on her way! And he’ll be encouraging you to.”

“I’m just going to listen, Sirius, I’m not going to hurt anybody.” Sirius glares mistrustfully at Regulus, his eyes angry.

“I’m not going to give in to what our batty bitch of a mother wants from us. If you want to go commit genocide, go ahead.” 

“It’s not bloody genocide!” Regulus protests. He hadn’t necessarily felt that going to a rally would be considered the worst thing in the entire world to his brother. “It’s just a rally!”

“Just you wait, Reg. Just wait and see what happens. You need to be careful.” This warning is the one thing that gets Regulus halfway worried, because his brother looks genuinely concerned. He’s shaking his head, long black hair moving over his shoulders, and Regulus feels an odd sting of having Sirius be disappointed in him.

“I’m going, and you don’t have to come. See if I care.”

“You’ll regret it!” Sirius calls as Regulus storms out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Bellatrix has the opposite to say when he meets her in Knockturn Alley. She wears a dark green dress and long lacy gloves that go all the way up her arms. Her wild black hair is teased on top and cascades in tight curls down her back. 

“This is going to be so fun for you! The Dark Lord will be _so_ pleased that the youngest Black is interested in his cause. We’re going to The White Wyvern, Rodolphus will meet us there.” She offers her arm to Regulus, who takes it and lets himself be led down the street. In the muggy summer heat, the streets of Knockturn Alley look more unwelcome than ever but Bellatrix keeps up a steady stream of chatter. 

“This is a personal meeting, today. You’ll get to talk to him, so be on your best behavior. It’s good you wore something smart.” She looks him up and down briefly before continuing. “Call him ‘my lord’, understand? This is a meeting for his _most_ devoted followers, so you’re lucky to be able to attend.”

“I’m very grateful you’ve brought me,” Regulus tells her truthfully. He’s a little thrilled about the upcoming meeting. From what his mum had told him, he had thought it would have been something more informal, with lots of people involved. Like a speech, or a bigger assembly. He had never imagined meeting the Dark Lord personally! They reach the bar and move into the darkened interior. Rodolphus greets them inside and they’re led to a cluster of people in the corner- all wearing dark robes and dissimilar expressions. Regulus recognizes Lucius Malfoy, and Rodolphus’s brother Rabastan among the crowd. They all look hungry eyed and excited, but also nervous. 

The man seated at the edge of the table is very thin, with a haughtily handsome face. His skin is very pale, and stretched tight over sharp collarbones. His eyes are glittering blue and intense, flickering up and down Regulus’s face, but there’s an odd reddish tinge to them. Almost bloody. Regulus swallows hard, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. 

“Hello, Bellatrix.” He tells her, taking her hand and kissing it. “This is your cousin, I presume?”

“Regulus Black, my lord.” Regulus speaks up, taking a step forward and extending his hand to shake, like his dad taught him. “It’s an honor.” The Dark Lord shakes Regulus’s hand and Regulus is surprised at how cold his skin is.

“No, no,” Lord Voldemort says, smiling cordially. “The pleasure is all mine.”

**s**

Regulus had been gone for less than ten minutes by the time Sirius was accosted by his mother. 

To tell the truth, Regulus’s offer of pretending to attend Voldemort’s rally but instead skiving off to hang out in London had been incredibly tempting for the eldest Black son. He had even considered writing a quick note to Mary, asking if she’d like to meet him in inner London to spend the day together, but then he’d remembered that they hadn’t made up before the end of third year and she was still angry with him. 

So he had loitered in the hallway feeling like an eavesdropping ghost as Walburga had said goodbye to Regulus in a voice full of warmth and pride that Sirius has never heard directed at him. He’d been up the stairs and back in his bedroom as soon as Regulus had floo-ed away, but Walburga had known (as she always seems to know) that he had been hanging about in the hall, watching his younger brother leave to go do things that would make his family proud. 

Sirius had sat down on his bed, pretending to read a book for school when Walburga had burst into his bedroom. He snapped up right away, dropping the book down on his lap, face hot as though he had been caught doing something shameful. She always gets him scared like that. Makes him feel like he’s doing something wrong, even if he’s just sitting around reading a book.

“Get up.” She snaps and Sirius is on his feet in an instant, not in a mood to disobey. He’s spent the past week at home walking on eggshells in desperate hopes that his mother would leave him alone, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. He stands nervously in the middle of his bedroom, throat tight with worry, body all tense from nerves. “Come here.” Sirius obeys again, still wordlessly, and slowly approaches Walburga with a hunted look in his eyes.

“What… what’s going on?”

“Your incredibly unapologetic disrespect for me never fails to shock me to my _core,_ Sirius.” She says before smacking him clean across the face. Walburga does it like she’d do anything- pouring water, turning the page in a book, brushing her hair. Sirius bites back tears and turns to face her once again with his cheek burning. He doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong. He almost never does. 

“I’m sorry-”

“What are you apologizing for?” She asks sharply, because she wants to make him look stupid. The phrase “I don’t know” has long been worn out on her, and her steely eyes flash with evil as she stands over him.

“My incredibly unapologetic disrespect?” Sirius stammers, not even trying to make a joke, just pulling any words he can from the back of his useless mind. She smacks him again, harder this time, and he staggers backwards, grateful that she isn’t wearing any heavy rings. That’s enough to be thankful for. 

“I overheard you and your brother’s conversation.” She begins, and Sirius thinks that he’s had plenty of conversations with Regulus over the past few days. “The one in which he made many good points on why you should join him in the rally, and the one where I was referred to as a ‘batty bitch’.” Oh. _That_ conversation. 

Sirius had been convinced that his parents had been downstairs in the parlor, but he can’t ever be too sure about who’s listening in this house. He mentally reminds himself to cease the conversations through the mirrors with James. Regulus had nearly caught him in the middle of a ‘call’ with his best mate, and that had scared Sirius enough into a form of paranoia. Now, he’s terrified. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It genuinely hurts me to hear you refer to me that way. I’m upset, to say the least, that you would say something like that about me. To hear my own son speak about me that way… it makes me wonder if you even love me at all. And it hurts to hear you try to manipulate your younger brother as well, convincing him that what we’ve taught him is wrong. Is that what you think?”

“No, ma’am.” Over winter holidays, Walburga had told Sirius to stop calling her “mum” and use the term “ma’am” instead to prove his respect towards her. Mentally, Sirius thinks _that was a private conversation and you shouldn’t have been listening and it’s your fault for hearing what I’ve got to say about you and I’ve got so much left to say, you miserable fucking cunt_ but instead he stands with his face a burning handprint and his knees shaking. A coward. 

“You’ve continuously proven yourself to be a shameful, disgraceful disappointment that’s brought nothing but misery to our family. I don’t want you to stay here anymore.” Sirius gapes at her.

“You what?”

“I want you to leave. You complain about wanting to stay with friends or enjoying school more than home, be my guest. Take some time away.” Sirius swallows his fear and wonders if this is him winning. There has to be some sort of catch, and Walburga folds her arms and glares down at him. “Now.” She continues, and Sirius springs into motion. She stands in the doorway and watches him pack in silence, which is tense enough to get him feeling on the verge of tears. 

He has to take all his school books with him because he’s not coming back home, _not ever,_ he hopes privately. He packs them up into many bags and his mother’s watching him, always bloody watching, and he finally gathers up his hastily packed, intensely heavy bags and trunk. She watches him struggle down the stairs under the weight, and says nothing as he walks out the door. 

And then he’s free.

And then he’s desperate. 

Sirius has nowhere to go. 

He doesn’t want James knowing what’s happened, that he’d been kicked out of his house and it’s all his own fault, so he doesn’t call his friend. Besides, he doesn’t want to be a bother to the Potters’ by showing up with all his things on their doorstep- an unceremonious and unwanted visitor. 

In the end, he walks down to Diagon Alley so he can use the floo network. There’s really no time to write an owl to anyone and he’s not planning on sleeping rough in the streets of London. No, he has a few family members left, and one of them will more or less be forced to take him in. If he’s home, that is. Sirius prays he’s home. 

He is. 

Sirius appears coughing in a dusty fireplace of a very vaguely familiar apartment and startles his uncle so much that he drops his tea cup on the floor to watch it shatter.

“Sirius!” 

“Uncle Alphard, I’m so sorry for just dropping by-”

“That’s alright, lad!” His uncle moves over to give him a hug and Sirius drops his heavy bags on the floor, giving in to the sudden and somewhat surprising gesture of affection. His mother never hugs him, not ever, hasn’t since he was a very young boy. Orion doesn’t show affection either- he used to ruffle Sirius’s hair or wrap an arm around him as a quick embrace, but now the only kindness he reserves for Sirius is ensuring that most of Walburga’s punishments aren’t as bad as they very well could be.

And Orion’s never physically struck Sirius. That counts as affection for him, and that’s a thought so sad and dark that he leaves it behind to face the warmth that his uncle brings.

“To tell the truth,” Alphard tells him over a fresh cup of tea once Sirius has been situated in his uncle’s small flat, “I was worried you had gotten involved in the business with Voldemort. I’ve heard Bellatrix is very passionate about it, and Narcissa’s husband, Malfoy. It had me very worried.”

“I would never join them.” Sirius tells him flatly. “I would _never_ , uncle.” The worry in his uncle’s eyes seems to abate, and his face softens into a familiar lined smile. 

“I’m very glad. You’re too good for that. You and your brother both.” Sirius holds his tongue when Regulus is mentioned and neglects to mention that his younger brother is at a rally as they speak. Sirius had explained the familial situation to his uncle, who had nodded along with a serious face. 

“Do you want me to have a word with your mum?” He had asked, to Sirius’s dismay. A quick shake of the head and a clearly desperate expression had been enough to deter him. No, Sirius didn’t want to go home, but he didn’t want to be a burden either. 

He lives with Alphard for a week and a half before his uncle has to go travel on business. His house had been a bubble of safety for Sirius, and he had been both sad and guilty for the trouble he had caused him. He had written to Andromeda and Ted, asking if they would mind his visiting for a few days, and they had written back saying they were always happy to have him around. 

So Sirius is passed from the house of one family member to another, feeling continuously like he’d rather be nowhere. He feels like a nuisance, forcing people to give up their beds and food to him, even if they’re family, even if this is what they’re supposed to do. If only he hadn’t said that about his mother, or he had attended the rally with Regulus. There're so many small choices that he regrets, and after a week of imposing on his eldest cousin’s little family, he feels awful enough to call James over the mirror and tell him that his parents have turned him loose for the summer, and that he can stay with the Potters for as long as he pleases. 

James is happy about this, but Sirius isn’t. 

He feels wistful and useless, floating from place to place, intruding on people’s lives and wishing that he wasn’t. He doesn’t want to be here, there, or anywhere. Home has never been home and as Sirius sits on Andromeda’s back doorstep on his last evening there, he realizes that Hogwarts is the closest place he’s ever felt home. And he can’t be there right now. 

Sirius feels useless tears wavering in his eyes and blinks them away, ashamed when a few fall down his cheeks. He just feels so _wearying,_ like no one wants him around and he’s just wasting space by existing. All of his bad feelings are made even worse when the back door opens and Andromeda accidentally smacks him with the screen door.

“Sorry, Sirius, I didn’t see you there!” Sirius waves away her apology and wipes the stubborn tears from his eyes. Andromeda’s face turns to worry and she sinks down to the steps across from him, her back against the iron railing leading down into the garden. The sun is about to set and her face is lit in golden light while Sirius is in shadow. Her eyes don’t match the cold grey ones that Sirius is so used to having glare at him, and he dissolves into a stupid puddle of relief when she doesn’t mention his tears. 

“Sorry, Andie… sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Her brown eyes search his and he’s reminded of Remus, champion of holding eye contact. God, he misses Remus _so_ much. He’s the physical embodiment of home, Sirius thinks, and that gets the tears back. Stupid fucking bloody tears. He swipes desperately at his face while Andromeda extends a hand towards him. He takes it, exhaling heavily.

“What’s on your mind?” She asks gently.

“Home,” Sirius sniffles. “And how there’s no such thing.”

“Yeah.” She nods, calmly understanding. “You learn to make your own, at some point. As sad as it seems. It’ll get better, Sirius. I know how this feels.” He nods but doesn’t speak, still working on holding back the massive onslaught of tears that’ll come if he’s forced to talk about the shameful hatred that’s stirred up relating to anything with his mum. 

“I just want to feel like I belong somewhere, somewhere permanent. Hogwarts can be home, but it’s not forever.”

“I used to feel that way.” Andromeda tells him. “I _know_ Sirius, I know how you feel. Look at me now, though! Best husband I could ask for, a beautiful daughter, a place to call my own. Do I miss having my family sometimes? Of course I do, but I’ve got Ted’s, now, and they’re my family too. Not the Blacks, not anymore. But I’ve got the Tonkses. And you, of course.” She squeezes his hand and Sirius smiles weakly. 

“You’ve just got to wait it out, and I know how useless that sounds, but find good things to hold onto, and things will pass faster. Your friends, Hogwarts, someone to love, in the future.” 

“Mhm.”

“You’ll get through it. One day, you’ll look back and think that there was hope, after all.”

“I can’t wait for that day.” Andromeda looks at him with real serious empathy in her eyes and Sirius feels like crying all over again. They sit and talk in the last remnants of golden sun for a long while. Sirius sobs into his pillow that night, crying himself to sleep. Wakes up the next day to move all his things to another house- the Potters’, this time- to go be a burden elsewhere. 


	43. [HOLS '74] Booze & Peppermint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a look at summertime thru the lupins' eyes as a contrast to the black fam  
> cw for domestic violence & alcohol abuse

_ heaven help me now, heaven show the way _

_ get me back on my own two feet _

_ i will lie awake and pray you don’t lie awake for me  _

**l**

Lyall hadn’t been very excited for his son’s return from Hogwarts, and it isn’t Remus’s fault at all.

Of course, Lyall’s clearly aware that him and his son don’t get along at all and half of it’s his fault but now, there’s more concrete problems than the issues in a father-son dynamic and Lyall feels some protective instinct return to him when he meets Remus at King’s Cross as he returns from school. 

Lyall feels oddly alienated while he waits for Remus. Other parents are talking with each other in small groups but he hangs around awkwardly, half hidden behind a pillar. He’s never been the most popular person, and used to have a good number of friends at work, but their numbers have dwindled and ever since Hope lost her job, well… he’s had other things on his mind that don’t involve socializing. 

It’s not the case with his son, though. Lyall spots him exiting the train surrounded by a group of friends. Remus says goodbye to all of them and Lyall looks over the ones he knows- the Black boy, the Pettigrew boy, the Potter boy. Potter puts a hand on Remus’s shoulder and tells him something with a serious expression on his face, while Remus nods embarrassedly. Potter hugs him goodbye and takes his leave. 

Lyall is about to make his presence known, but he stops short when Remus turns to a tall blonde girl by his side and kisses her very briefly on the lips before she, smiling and blushing, is dragged away by her family. Remus had ceased most of his letters home (at least to Lyall) so his father’s been left mostly in the dark about his son’s relationships. It’s not like he hadn’t expected his son to get a girlfriend, it’s just something he had never spent time considering. Lyall feels an odd pang, one that comes with watching your children grow up before your eyes. 

At last, when Remus is left standing alone and looking around for his parents, Lyall moves towards him. They don’t hug or embrace, but Lyall sees a shine of relief in his son’s eyes.

“Hi, dad! I thought you weren’t coming at first.” 

“Why wouldn’t I come?” Lyall asks, offering to take Remus’s trunk. 

“Mum didn’t.” Remus answers without thought, and Lyall feels bad about it, but even worse because Remus doesn’t know the condition his mum has found herself in.

“She’s feeling unwell.” Remus snorts at that, like Hope being unwell is an inside joke that Lyall hadn’t been included in. “She’s…” Lyall debates warning his son about what he’ll find at home and sees Remus’s curious eyes meet his. “She’s really not doing well, these days.”

“How do you mean?” Lyall shrugs.

“You’ll see.” Remus bites his lip but doesn’t pry. Their journey home is quiet and tense with all of the unspoken words hovering uselessly between the two of them. Lyall’s never been too good with his words and sitting down to make things right, and he wishes he could take back the fighting over winter holidays and the way he had struck Remus in a display of shameful impulse. If they had a longer journey home then maybe Lyall would have said something, but they use the floo network to travel and Remus detaches almost immediately when at home- always wanting to be out with his mates or playing with Luke. Always finding a way to avoid being at home. 

Hope isn’t downstairs, thankfully, and Lyall sighs in relief. Yesterday, she had gone on a rampage and he had arrived home from work to see at least half of his record collection cracked and shattered all over the living room floor. She had been upstairs, locked in the bedroom upon having taken all the liquor in the house with her. She hasn’t let Lyall in for weeks, and he’s taken to sleeping on the couch. 

Yesterday, though, had been horrible. He had appeared after work in the fireplace with records crunching underneath his feet and seen glossy black vinyl everywhere- as though she’d lain them down like a carpet and jumped up and down. He’d had half a mind to sit down and cry over how disconsolate his life had become, but instead he picked up all the unmendable pieces and tied them up in a bin bag so he wouldn’t have to remember all the songs the pair of them had danced to, now gone to waste and lined in polyethylene plastic. 

“Where’s mum?” Remus asks, bending down to pick up a barking Luke in his arms. The dog has grown too big to hold and he squirms while Remus asks in a high voice- “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy! You are! Yes you are!” He kisses him on the nose and sets him down on the floor, rubbing his fur and laughing as he jumps up and down in delight. 

“Upstairs.” Lyall responds distantly, moving into the kitchen to put the kettle on, as a force of habit by now. 

“She's sleeping?” Remus sits down on the floor to give Luke a belly rub and Lyall leans against the wall in the gap between living room and kitchen.

“I dunno. You can check. She’s not speaking to me.”

“What did you do?” Lyall shrugs. He let Remus get bitten by Greyback, he didn’t do enough to protect the family, he got them all involved in magic, he was the one who received the letter from Dumbledore about his son’s suicide attempt and hid it from Hope until she found it and promptly lost her mind in a fit of anger. 

His son gives him a quizzical look before standing up and dragging his trunk behind him, the dog bounding up the stairs hot on his heels. Lyall sighs and moves back into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea. The Lupin’s house is small enough for the occupants to be able to hear each other’s motions inside, and Lyall hears the thump of Remus setting his trunk down in his bedroom, and then his footsteps on the ceiling moving over to his parents’ bedroom. 

Or Hope’s bedroom, at this point.

Lyall had been wondering whether he would stay sleeping on the couch after Remus arrived back from Hogwarts, but hadn’t been keen on trying to talk to his wife. It seems that every time he climbed those stairs and knocked on the door, another fight would ensue and at this point, he’s had enough of all the shouting. 

Except when Remus knocks on the door, Lyall hears it open and then hears Hope’s voice- excited and happy, saying “Remus! I’m so glad you’re home!” and Lyall drowns out the sound of a happiness he’s not allowed to be included in by putting on a record. One of the few that haven’t been smashed. 

Hope even comes down to eat supper with them. She’s pale faced and her unwashed hair has been drawn back into a low ponytail, but she’s happy to have Remus back and the two of them converse warmly throughout the meal while Lyall picks at his food and half listens to what they talk about. Remus’s classes, Remus’s Scottish girlfriend, Remus’s mates, and the full moons, of course. No mention of attempted suicide. Remus probably has no idea that his parents know, and neither Hope nor Lyall are keen on discussing it with him. 

Lyall tunes out when they talk about Remus’s experiences during the full moons over the year and instead remembers the fight he’d had with Hope after she found Albus’s letter, how she had screamed  _ this is your fault!  _ over and over like their son’s depression is a blame game. The shattered bottles, broken glass, the bleeding gash on Lyall’s forehead from the bottle she’d thrown at him.

“You don’t love him, you haven’t since he was bitten, and this is how he feels, now!” She’d screamed through a face full of tears while Lyall sat dazed on the floor, blood running into his eyes. “He tries to kill himself because it all hurts so bad!” Lyall hadn’t had a single thing to say so instead had raised his hands over his head pathetically as she’d thrown something else at him- a ceramic vase that had split his arm into more bleeding cuts. 

“ _ Say something!”  _ Her voice was hoarse as she threw something else, backing him into a corner with both arms raised in front of his face. “Fucking say something!” A picture, this time, the frame knocking him and the glass inside shattering all over the floor.

“I’m sorry!” He’d shouted in a desperate panic- hair matted with blood and arms stinging from cuts. “Hope, please, stop- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” Her sobs had been so loud, like she was tearing her throat apart to get them out, and she sank to the floor in a swaying, drunken heap while Lyall slowly lowered his arms and tasted blood in his mouth. 

Lyall never thought he’d end up like that. A crumpled, weak man- bleeding from a broken bottle smashed over his head. Helpless. Vulnerable. 

He looks at Remus talking with Hope and sees himself in his son the same way he sees his wife. Hope has fair hair that’s prematurely streaked grey, and Lyall has knotty dark brown hair- mixed together in a warm golden auburn tone in Remus’s hair. He has his mum’s freckles and that same half quirked smile she does. 

He looks more like Lyall, though, always has. They’ve got the same dark eyes and get the same red hot look on their faces when they’re angry. And poor Remus got that too-big nose from his dad, but it’s marred by the scars twisting across it and Lyall frowns silently as his son glances up at him, wondering why he’s staring. Lyall can’t explain in words how much he genuinely cares for his son, and looks away quickly enough to throw off the notion that he might have been wondering how this boy grew up before his eyes to hate his father, believing his father hated him just the same. 

Lyall picks up Hope and Remus’s plates and moves around the kitchen to do the washing up. He thinks about Christmas and how he’d hit his own son- split his lip and let him have the last word. He regrets it every day and knows that there’s no way to mend that had been broken. Lyall stands with his back to his alcoholic wife and suicidal son and thinks about giving up.

**r**

When Remus sees Sion again, he knows that there’s absolutely no way to deny that he’s sort of queer. 

“AC-DC.” Sion tells him one night after they play a one and one game of football. The sun’s setting and they’re sitting cross legged behind the goalpost, watching the sun set in a haze of pink and yellow. 

“What?” Remus asks cluelessly.

“Alternate current, direct current, butt. Bisexuality.”

“Oh.” Sion is looking exceptionally fit in his football kit. He’s always been good looking but they were kids before, twelve years old and baby faced. Now, Sion’s lost that baby fat and has a sharp, handsome face. He has short dark brown hair and this confidently sly expression that Remus has always loved. He’s thin and lean with his footballer’s body, and Remus is eternally grateful that he hadn’t joined the popular rugby scene in their town. 

Sion looks over at Remus now, eyes flicking up and down his face, that subtle smile wavering on his lips, before he turns back to look up at the sky. He’s sitting with his arms propped out behind him and his head tilted back. 

“So…” Sion begins. “Joseph’s still with Beca, shame, but apparently her friends are having a huge party down in Wrexham on Saturday night.”

“Did we get the invite?” Sion scoffs laughter. 

“You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Yeah, anyone’s invited. You reckon you’ll go?”

“If you are.” Remus will party, but he’ll never do it alone. Muggle parties aren’t anything like the stuffy ones in the Gryffindor common room. People move in and outside of the house or flat like it’s not a big deal to step out for fresh air. It’s common to stand outside smoking and then move in to dance- nothing like being stuffed up in the claustrophobic common room. 

Sion smiles warmly at him, brown eyes crinkled. “I’m going.” 

“Biking?”

“How else? Still haven’t got a job. Are you still at the garden centre?” 

“Yeah, Davies is always desperate for people to help him. You could ask up there.” Sion wrinkles his nose.

“Sounds sort of tedious. I think I’ll go up to the summer camp, see if they need anyone to look after the kids.”

“Oh, because that sounds fun?”

“Dunno, you just give them some color pencils, feed them sandwiches, get them playing footie for a few hours. Not so bad.” Sion starts getting up and tucks his black and white football under his arm. Remus follows him. He’s still a little achy from the full moon that had taken place the past week, but surprisingly, exercise helps manage the soreness of his muscles. 

Madam Pomfrey had sent him home after third year with a variety of potions for him to take over the summer, and his mental state feels more or less stable now- especially when there’s no prejudiced judgement or mentions of war. In the muggle world, everything’s normal. Hope had finally given him a proper haircut the past week so now it’s all quite short around the back, but still decently curly in the front. Remus plays football with Sion nearly every day and spends the rest of his time swimming at the leisure centre with Stanley or playing in the fields with Luke.

Being anywhere but home. 

Remus had gone on a booze induced rant about Hyatt’s sparkling eyes the other night while Sion had listened attentively before he asked if Remus had any photos of him. Truthfully, Remus might’ve- Hyatt had sort of halfway integrated himself into their friend group over third year and it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to imagine himself waving from the corner of a photo. Remus had been pissed enough to forget about the moving pictures that Peter’s polaroid printed and had nearly considered bringing Sion back to his house to flicker through his photo album, but then remembered his parents were probably in the midst of an embarrassing row.

“I can’t take you home,” he had told Sion apologetically. They’d been sitting across from each other at a picnic table in the sorry excuse for a downtown of Mold, brown-bagging their drinks like proper alkie adults. “My mum’s gone mad.”

“Has she?” 

“Yeah, always screaming and shouting and drunk, like. Can’t be helped. You wouldn’t like to see it.” Sion’s face had tightened but in the low dusky light, Remus hadn’t noticed. “I can get the photos another day.”

“That’s fine, it’s no problem.” They had left the conversation there, not delving into details of Remus’s troublesome home life, no more than Sion would’ve liked to talk about his own. It’s fine, anyways, spending all day and half the night out of the house because Hope’s too potted to notice and Lyall’s too depressed to care. 

On Friday night, the two boys meet up and bike down to Wrexham. It’s a nice ride, only about ten miles without any hills, and neither of them think much about the journey they’ll have back in the pitch black darkness after consuming plenty of alcohol. 

By the time they’ve chained their bikes to a street pole outside the low row of terraced houses, the sky has been lit up golden by the lazy sun and Remus takes a good look at Sion standing there in his “party outfit”- a pair of thinly striped black and white flared trousers, and an orange button down shirt with short sleeves. Sion looks exactly how a muggle teenager should look in 1974, but Remus’s own outfit is a little lackluster.

He doesn’t have any fancy trousers or colorful shirts, except the awful novelty t-shirt that Mary had given him last year, and he wears a black Led Zeppelin shirt he had found in a charity shop and some dark blue, patched up flared jeans. Sion had said he looked cool, though, so Remus believes it and manifests acting like the punk he comes off as. 

Sion opens the gate to one of the small brick houses and Remus follows behind him up into the house, which is already packed with people. Traveling by bicycle means being late, more often than not, but no one’s really been waiting for them anyways. The house is hazy with cigarette smoke and loud with music. People are dancing in the living room to loud pop music and Remus looks around to see that most of the crowd seems older- seventeen or eighteen year olds. 

He’s sort of glad to see a familiar face in Beca, who’s wearing dodgy makeup and is smearing lipstick all over the rim of a bottle of beer. 

“Alrigh’ Remus, love?” She asks, kissing him on both cheeks. He doesn’t remember her being this friendly with him, but supposes it’s the drunken friendliness and doesn’t really mind, anyways. “How’s Glasgow, like?”

“Glasgow?” Remus asks, confused. Sion is greeted next by Beca, and laughs a little when she asks about Scotland. 

“Yeah, Sion told me you were up at a delinquent’s school up there? Is it proper violent?”

“Oh, er…” Remus glances quickly at Sion, who grins cheekily. “Yeah, well, lots of the boys up there are- you know. Lots of fights, got to be careful. The teachers cane us, sometimes, of course, got to keep us in line. One of my mates has got a trial going on, this summer, actually.” Remus leans in conspiratorially. “Some charge about manslaughter, like. Serious business.” Beca’s eyes widen and Remus gives her a sly smile before following Sion off into the crowd.

“Why’d you lie to her?” Remus calls over the music as he follows Sion into the little kitchen where people are getting their liquor. Nothing’s been kept cool and the beer shoved into Remus’s hand is syrupy, but he’s not complaining. 

“Dunno, thought you’d want to keep up a reputation,” Sion tells Remus over his shoulder. 

“How d’you mean?” Sion finally stops moving and finds a spot where he can stay still and not be in the way of the countless other people moving throughout the house. 

“You know, you don’t want them knowing you’re in your fancy private boarding school. Not like us in state schools.” Remus frowns at him over his beer. 

“It’s free, mate. I got a grant.” 

“Really?” Sion asks, obviously a little embarrassed. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Remus continues. He’s lying about the grant, obviously, but if Hogwarts ‘tuition’ hadn’t been paid for by the Ministry of Magic, he would never have been able to attend. And he assumes plenty of other students wouldn’t have been able to either- like Snape or Mary. “My parents could never afford an independent school.”

“Right… sorry, butt.” Sion shrugs his shoulders good naturedly. “Still, they think you’re a bad boy type, now.” 

“True!” Remus is proven to be even more of a ‘bad boy’ when a friend of Sion’s moves through the crowd and takes them to a quieter room in the house where some older kids are rolling zoots and smoking them out the windows.

“What’s this- skunk?” Sion asks as his mate Mark produces his own baggie of dark green bud.

“Yeah, you fancy a smoke?” Mark asks, looking from Sion to Remus.

“‘Course, butt. You, Remus?”

“Sure, why not?” Remus says, watching with interest as Mark produces a few silvery wrappers of chewing gum and licks the edges before sticking them together. 

“Ever tried it?” Mark asks him.

“Nah.” Remus had heard about hippies getting high on weed, but wouldn’t have thought he would be one of them. Mark layers a line of ground weed in the chewing gum wrappers and then rolls them into a shoddy looking joint. He twists off the corners and holds it out for the three of them to examine in the hazy light.

“Tidy.” Sion says, and Mark nods.

“Let’s go try it out?” They hang about on the back brick patio and smoke the joint while watching the sun set. Remus feels like everything’s a little funnier than usual and his body is less easy to move around, but other than that, it’s just very calming. He gets more drunk than high and spends the evening having plenty of fun- dancing, drinking, and joining new friends on smoking rotations where they cycle through the house and go out back to smoke every hour or so. Remus finds himself surprisingly adept at making conversations with strangers who become friends over the night, and he’s only a little unsurprised when Mark offers to give Sion and Remus a ride back to Mold.

They stand out by the front gate of the house while people slowly trickle out the front steps and into the street. Mark and Remus are sharing one last fag and the smoke turns yellowish under the orange light cast upon them from the streetlamp. Sion doesn’t smoke regularly because he wants to stay fit for football, but he breathes in their secondhand smoke amiably enough. 

“We’ve got bikes.” Remus says hoarsely after Mark’s invitation to drive them back. He gestures lamely at the street pole across the road where their two bikes are chained.

“That’s alright,” Mark points the other way down the road, “I’ve got a truck.” It’s a terrifying looking thing- a rusted out pickup from the ‘50s that’s both long and wide. Sion and Remus load their bikes into the back before jumping in behind them. Mark’s giving a girl he knows a ride back, too, and she sits up in the cab with him. 

They pick up speed on the winding Welsh country roads and Remus laughs out loud as him and Sion bounce all over the back, wind in their hair and bikes crashing on top of them. Sion ends up half sat on top of Remus after a particularly nasty bump in the road that had sent them flying. Remus feels his friend’s leg over him, Sion’s knee pressing against his hip- all the tactile feelings. And he sees him, too. Sees his dark eyes, his white toothed grin, his tan skin under the faint moonlight. 

Then Sion kisses him. Just leans in and does it without any sense of modesty or fear, and Remus kisses back right away because how could he not? Sion brushes his hand back around Remus’s hair and his fingers pass gently over the scar on his jaw- and then the truck jostles again and they break apart from each other, Sion bouncing back across the bed of the truck and falling into his bike. 

Remus stares at him, his dark hair whipping wildly in the wind and his brown eyes glittering with energy. The ride is over before they know it and when Mark’s truck disappears, leaving them in the silent village of Mold a little after midnight with nothing to do. 

“Home, I suppose?” Sion asks, and Remus shrugs. They start back up the road towards their houses, each walking their bike. Neither of them talk much but when they reach Sion’s street, he turns to look at Remus. 

“I liked that a lot, butt. The kissing. Dunno if I’m drunk or stoned but it was sort of mental.”

“I liked it too,” Remus mumbles sort of embarrassedly. 

“And I know you’re just here for the summer, like, but we’ve still got time. If you’d like to do it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lyrics from this chapter are from the song 'gloria' by the lumineers which sort of inspired the progression of hope & lyall's relationship. the video is a cinematic masterpiece and will only take about 4 minutes of your time so i highly recommend checking it out!
> 
> [gloria - the lumineers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rh9RIqtNlIM)


	44. [YR 4] How Good We Could Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, just a heads up that i changed the name of this fic! i named it like o, like h originally because the song was sort of fitting but i dig this title a lot more. could be a reference to the smiths (fuck morrissey, as always) or a reference to the hotelier. we may never know!

_ if this life is all that we get, we better hope something good comes next _

_ world is changing, can you feel the tension? _

_ if you’re not angry, you must not be listening  _

**s**

Severus Snape never thought he’d be excited to return to Hogwarts. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy school- it’s just that he suffers from a case of being unbearably awkward, and gangly, and ugly, and people just don’t seem to like him very much. 

And he’s got friends, now, which makes things a little better and while these friends might be a little too interested in the wrong side of a budding war, Severus still likes them the same. He hasn’t got friends at home and that much is clear from the two months spent walking the streets of Cokeworth to avoid going home. Him and Lily have a very on-again-off-again relationship thanks to his general incompetence, and she’d been in Scotland visiting the McKinnon girl for most of July, and they hadn’t ran into each other in the streets until mid-August. 

Severus doesn’t go over to her house anymore because he feels desperate showing up on the front step, shifting awkwardly in front of the door while her mother or father or sister will look at him with a mixed expression of pity and dislike. When he  _ had  _ finally come upon Lily, she had been as kind as ever and even invited him to dinner at hers. Like she had known he’d been on a steady diet of chewing gum and lukewarm water for the past week, but Severus hadn’t been desperate enough to come over and had turned her down.

He remembers the look on her face and how she didn’t understand the pain of his pride. He knows that she understands in different ways. They had spent some time together in August and it had felt more or less okay, the way things should be. Severus knows that he can’t continually upset and then apologize to Lily and hopes that this year, he won’t have to. 

His friends are plainly aware of two things about Lily Evans: the first being that she’s a muggleborn (they never use that word, always opting for the unnecessary ‘mudblood’) and the second being that she’s Severus’s oldest friend. When he broke away from her on the Hogwarts Express to move into their carriage full of Slytherins while she continued down the train to find her own friends, none of them had said anything but Mulciber. But he’d always had something to say. Severus didn’t hold it against him.

Severus had been shouldered by Potter in the Great Hall while leaving the Start of Term feast, but Severus had looked up to see the four of them- Potter, Black, Pettigrew, and Lupin and then felt oddly triumphant. While Lupin had grown taller and tanner over the summer, Severus only needed one look at him to see purpley red, painful looking cysts erupting all over his face. 

Nothing magical at all. Just an awful case of acne that had clearly developed over the summer. 

Remus had narrowed his eyes at Severus and continued walking as though nothing had happened but Severus had one thing to hold over his head now- Gryffindor’s perfect pretty boys are finally falling from grace. 

This victory for Severus brings him to sitting in the Slytherin common room with Evangeline Snyde, Corban Yaxley, and Erwin Mulciber. It’s a planning session of sorts- a meeting to determine the next best way to make the muggleborn students understand their place at Hogwarts. 

“Well, did you hear about what Crouch and Black did last year?” Yaxley asks thoughtfully. “To that girl in Gryffindor, the darkie?” Severus only stiffens at the slur but says nothing. 

“Oh, MacDonald?” Evangeline confirms. “She deserved that, her and her big mouth.” 

“But look at what happened afterward,” Severus speaks up. It’s not that he’s against an attack on mudbloods, but he does feel somewhat guilty for hurting direct friends of Lily’s. “Black and Crouch were in the hospital wing all week. Mar- MacDonald, I mean, she’s friends with Potter and Sirius Black. If they find out, they’ll get back at us.”

“And you’re afraid of them?” Mulciber asks him directly. Severus fights the urge to squirm under his dark gaze.

“Of course not…”

“Maybe Severus is right, though.” Evangeline comes to save him, thankfully. “And picking on one person would be too obvious, don’t you think? We should vary our victims.”

“It’s not good form to call them victims, don’t you think?” Yaxley puts in. “Sounds a bit like we’re murderers.”

“We’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to.” Mulciber snaps at him. Severus sits quietly, eyes flickering back and forth around the table. “Putting mudbloods in their rightful place. You know, I don’t think we need to orchestrate a full on attack. I just think we need the proper spirit and the courage, right?”

“Right!” Evangeline’s too enthusiastic about this whole situation and Severus eyes her warily. Then, a little hesitant- “How d’you mean?”

“Attack any of them we get alone. Not hurt badly, mind. Just something to leave a mark. Something that won’t go away straight off.” Severus finds himself thinking deeply about this once Mulciber leaves the meeting, claiming he’s got some business to attend to. Yaxley leaves soon after him, abandoning Evangeline and Severus together.

“I think we should do something tomorrow, to please Erwin. Would you help?”

“Yeah, sure.” Severus tells her. To him, this isn’t about obeying or pleasing anyone. He’s spent enough time over the summer creeping around a silent, dark house so as not to upset his father, and is done with living under someone’s rule. The muggleborn, however… he’s had enough of muggles. His own father is testament to that- lazy, useless, unliked by all. 

“I was thinking about Dorcas Meadowes, do you know her?” Evangeline offers.

“Yeah.”

“She’s just as bad as MacDonald. Always running her mouth, as if we want to hear what her addled mind has to offer us! Words don’t mean much when you’re a mudblood!” Severus hates how often they throw the slur around but doesn’t argue, just nods again, frowning distantly at the watery skylight of the common room.

Evangeline continues in her rant and Severus tunes her out because he really doesn’t care at all. Doesn’t give a toss. Nods along and wishes he was talking to someone unprejudiced and kind, someone like Lily Evans. Then there’s the sting of self hatred when he thinks about Lily and how she’s probably sitting in the Gryffindor common room, all bright and happy with her own friends. Unashamed- he thinks. Lily Evans in one word, and how he wishes he could feel the same way. 

**d**

Due to her inventive selection of elective classes, Dorcas doesn’t have class until eleven o’clock in the morning on every day of her fourth year. At first she’s excited because she can use the extra time to sleep in, do homework, and even do some makeup before classes. 

She’s fourteen and supposed to be excited about these sorts of things- the fun in sitting in front of a mirror and drawing wings in eyeliner pencil around her dark eyes or just having the time to dance around her dorm to Marlene’s brother’s American music- her favorite record being by a group called The Modern Lovers. 

What she’s not supposed to be is scared. 

Dorcas Meadowes is both strong and confident, but naively friendly enough to have been sorted into Hufflepuff. So when the Slytherin girl Evangeline Snyde approaches her in the hall on the way to Herbology, Dorcas is only happy enough to chat with her. 

“Hi Dorcas, how was your summer?” Dorcas has only spoken to Evangeline a handful of times in the classes that they share- most notably Herbology, where Professor Sprout pairs them up with students of separate houses to promote ‘inter-house fellowship’ as she had called it. 

“Good, and yours?” Dorcas asks politely.

“Fine, yeah, it was quite nice. I  _ love  _ your makeup, the eyeliner is brilliant!” Dorcas grins at the compliment, glad that someone had noticed and thought of a nice thing to say. 

“Thanks, Evangeline, that’s kind of you to say.” 

“Well, actually.” Evangeline stops walking so suddenly that Dorcas keeps going for a moment and then stops, confused. The blonde haired Slytherin puts a hand on her hip and surveys Dorcas, her light eyes flickering up and down the other girl’s frame. “It looks a bit smudged, there-” Evangeline reaches a hand up so fast that Dorcas has no time to react, not knowing what’s happening, and then she smacks her clean across the face. 

Dorcas reels backwards, thinking  _ what the fuck?  _ while Evangeline continues talking.

“You’re a filthy, no-good mudblood- a creature of dirt. Your mum should have died in the hospital.” Then she strides away while Dorcas stands completely blindsided, the few tears that had sprung up in her eyes tracing tracks down her cheeks. Almost a moment later, out of nowhere, she sees another figure in Slytherin robes striding towards her and takes a few steps back before turning away, thinking she’s  _ not  _ about to get ambushed for being Muggleborn on the way to bloody Herbology lessons, no way. 

“Meadowes!” Shouts an oddly pitched voice and Dorcas doesn’t turn around, just holding up her fingers in a backwards peace sign conveying  _ up yours _ directed at whoever’s following her. It had been a bad choice to make, because the next word out of her assailant’s mouth is “ _ Pungo!”  _

There’s a horrible stinging sensation in her leg and she stops short, the sharp pain rendering her unable to walk. It feels like a horde of bees have crept up on her and stung her leg to bits, and she hisses in pain as she whirls around and sees the creep fleeing the scene. She never saw his face.

“ _ Peniculu genu!”  _ Dorcas shouts, waving her wand in his direction. It’s not the most efficient dueling spell, the sponge-knees jinx, but it does the job because the dark robed figure down the hallway collapses. The pain in Dorcas’s leg is still stinging bad enough for tears to once again appear in her eyes, and she pushes them away with her hands as she hobbles down to the Hospital Wing. 

She arrives in Herbology class late, with an excuse note from Madam Pomfrey, and doesn’t mention what had happened to any of her friends. Her closest friend in Hufflepuff is Emmeline Vance, who’s a touch narcissistic and doesn’t pry about what had made her late. Dorcas ignores Evangeline and the rest of her menacing crowd. She’d wiped off her smudged makeup in the bathroom before class. She’s angry. 

And it’s strange that Remus Lupin of all people is the one to find a proper outlet for her anger. 

He’d snuck by to the Hufflepuff table after dinner and quietly pulled her aside outside the Great Hall. The events of the morning had made Dorcas feel rather downcast throughout the day, and she’d stayed at her own house table for dinner. Talking to Emmeline and Kingsley meant that there was no loud gossip or dramatic arguments, the sort that always seemed to take place in the Gryffindor group, and Dorcas had been relieved that none of them came over to her table. 

Not that she would have minded Marlene there, though. Somehow, Marlene never manages to annoy her. Neither does Remus, though, but she’s not as close with him. He’d returned from summer holidays looking properly fit- all tall and tanned and muscled. He’d cut his hair properly, not like the choppy trim she’d given him last year, and Mary had teased Marlene that she’d have to be careful about other girls going for him.

Dorcas hadn’t been as astute as her friends the previous year when it came to Remus’s illness but he had looked downright sickly throughout much of third year, and she’d been glad that he seems to have gotten better over the summer. It seems that he’s come back with another problem- this one being an awful case of acne. It’s dark red and blotchy all over his already scarred face and Dorcas isn’t surprised when he comes to her for help.

It’s not like she’s famous or anything, but her assorted homemade skincare and cosmetic products have been talked about throughout Hogwarts, and she’s made a few galleons selling her fares throughout the school. It’s most fun with friends though- doing their nails with color-changing nail polish or using her homemade face masks to peel them off hours later to find their skin impossibly clear and smooth. At the end of the day, it’s safe to say that Dorcas Meadowes is the girl to go to when it comes to making yourself look better. 

“What’s up?” She asks him outside the Great Hall while he glances around nervously as though Potter or Black would show up and intrude at any moment.

“I need your help.” 

“With what?” He points at his face with a despairing expression.

“You make face masks or whatever, yeah? Can you fix this? Muggle stuff won’t touch it.” Dorcas looks at the nasty cystic acne and feels rather bad for him. He’s already got those ragged, textured scars twisting across his face and though he is handsome, the acne had been a rather unnecessary addition to his features. She’d asked Marlene about them during second year, wondering if she had any insight on where they’d come from, but her friend had been just as clueless about them. 

“He’s never told me, and I’m not going to ask! It’d be so rude!” Dorcas had rolled her eyes because she would have asked if it were  _ her  _ dating the guy, but she herself hadn’t been, and so she’d never asked. Still, she takes a long look at the thick white scars that fade away behind the clusters of blistered red pustules all over his cheeks.

There’s just too much going on at once.

“Yeah,” Dorcas tells him. “I can help.” She takes him back to the blissfully empty dormitory and seats him on her bed while she digs through her assortment of skincare products- both magical and Muggle. Remus fidgets uncomfortably while looking around her dorm. He has a nervous habit of biting the inside of his cheek and the twist of his face upsets the blemishes around his mouth. 

“Here, bubotuber pus is magical for acne.”

“Oh no!” Remus cries, falling back across the bed as she approaches him with a jar. “Are you taking the mickey? This isn’t funny-”

“Oh come  _ on  _ Lupin, I thought you of all people would have done your research. It’s diluted. I mixed it with some dragon claw and some Muggle face wash. Come here!” He nervously follows her into the bathroom and takes the jar from her hands. 

“You’re sure this won’t hurt me?”

“I’ve used it myself, mate.” He frowns at her and then turns to the mirror, gingerly dipping his fingers into the cream in the jar and rubbing it onto his spotty face. 

“How long does it take to work, like?”

“Use it every day for a week, and it’ll start to clear up. Yours, well...” Remus pouts at her jokingly. “That’s a bad case. It could be gone in a month.”

“All of it!? Blimey, that’s good!” She shrugs.

“You might have some scars. But that’s nothing new.” Remus opens his mouth in shock and Dorcas wishes she knew when to shut up. But then he laughs, smiling wide before wincing and pressing his lips back together.

“Good one. It even hurts to bloody  _ smile! _ I’ll pay you good money if this works.” He gestures with the jar in his hand. Dorcas waves him off.

“No need, this is on me. You need as much help as you can get.”

“Cheers, that makes me feel better.” She wanders back into the dorm room, feeling listless and strange. One of her roommates, Betsy, had set up a little area in the dorm with pillows and blankets on the floor to laze about and read in. Dorcas sits down and hugs a pillow to her chest while Remus jerkily sits across from her, wincing a bit like he’s hurt. He tilts his head a little sideways and his strange eyes flicker across hers warmly. “You okay?”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugs casually, like it would be no issue if he were wrong in asking if something was the matter. 

“You seemed a little quieter than usual today, dunno.” Remus is almost annoyingly easy to talk to and Dorcas doesn’t hold back when it comes to thinking about her day.

“You know what, Lupin?”

“What?”

“I’m really bloody fucking angry. I’ve been so angry all day. I am so  _ incredibly  _ outraged right now.” She says this all in a calm voice and Remus’s mouth quirks at the edge as he looks at her. 

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I got jinxed by a Slytherin in the halls and slapped in the face and called a ‘creature of dirt’ and I’m bloody  _ angry  _ about it.” The half smile on Remus’s face drops and turns into concern. “And the only thing I got back at them was a stupid sponge-knees jinx.” A little smile from him, now. 

“That’s a start! I’ve an idea for you, though.”

“Have you?” Remus nods importantly.

“Dueling club.” Dorcas has heard about the dueling club, where seventh years hex each other to hell and back while Professor Flitwick stands there and watches them suffer. She’s always thought of it as a thing that cooler, older kids do, but she’s forced to remember that she’s a fourth year now. On her way to growing up.

“Can we join?” She asks, using ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ because despite her apparent fearlessness, there’s no way she’d go alone. Remus nods easily.

“Anyone can join. Younger students are usually too scared, though. I’ve been thinking about going for a while. Seems helpful.” 

“When do they meet?”

“Dunno, we can ask Flitwick.” 

“Will you come with me?”

“To ask Flitwick?”

“No, to the club.” Remus tilts his head again a little bit as though considering. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“We’ll make it a date.” Dorcas jokes. “I won’t tell Marlene.” Remus neither smiles or laughs, just shrugs his assent. “You’re still together with her?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else!” Remus looks momentarily alarmed and then quickly adopts an unruffled expression. “Remus!” Dorcas continues.

“I haven’t!” He protests but Remus has always been a terrible liar. 

“You had a summertime fling?”

“Absolutely not!” Underneath the scars and the acne, Dorcas can still see him blushing. The pink creeps up his neck and makes him look younger. 

“You’re lying.”

“I didn’t have a  _ fling _ .” He hesitates, looks at her, then folds his arms over his chest. “You’re going to tell her everything I say.”

“Come on, you don’t trust me?” He shakes his head in response, arms still crossed, and Dorcas just laughs. “I promise I won’t tell her, mate, this is just between me and you. Come on, Lupin, what’s your dirty little secret?”

“All I did was  _ snog  _ someone a bit. And we were drunk and a little high, anyways.” He adopts a foreign dreamy look in his eyes. “And besides, you see, me and Marlene aren’t really… I mean, we’re not very serious, you know? We’re more of friends, like.”

“So who’s the girl?” Dorcas asks, ignoring his misplaced excuses. Remus’s face then turns nearly purple and that stupid dreamy look turns into a tight lipped smile. “Oh, it was a bloke, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, god…” Remus buries his face in his hands and Dorcas squeals, shoving him payfully. 

“It was!”

“We were pissed!”

“That’s okay, Lupin, I’ve kissed my mates. If it makes you feel better, I’ve kissed your Marlene!”

“Have you?” 

“Girls kiss each other for practice sometimes, you know.” Remus draws his hands away from his scarred face but the blush still hasn’t gone anywhere.

“If I snogged James for practice, he’d do my head in.” Dorcas laughs out loud and sees Remus grin bashfully. “Do you ever, I dunno, do you ever feel like… like you like girls and… and blokes, you know, like them the same?” 

Dorcas looks at Remus Lupin and realizes that she’s never thought of him as queer, always saw him next to Marlene and thought  _ that’s that, then  _ but here he is, confessing his bisexuality openly like it’s been weighing on him for far too long.

“Yeah, mate… It’s not too complex, though, is it? Like, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s properly fit but so is…” Dorcas catches herself before the name ‘Marlene McKinnon’ leaves her lips, the name of the blonde haired, blue eyed girl who’s been her best friend for two years and counting. Because Marlene’s not only a girl and not only her best friend, she also happens to be dating Remus Lupin who snogs Welsh blokes back at home and doesn’t consider his relationship with her to be ‘serious.’ 

Here he is, confessing that he’s cheated on one of Dorcas’s best friends, and she’s left pretending that what he’s done is fine. It’s not. And Dorcas might keep Remus’s secret because she’s not someone to go spilling secrets that aren’t hers to tell, but she thinks she won’t look at him the same. He’s a boy- he does things without thinking about consequences and how hurtful his actions could be. 

If Dorcas was dating Marlene, she would never cheat on her.

But then again, she would never date Marlene. It’s 1974 and the world just doesn’t work that way. 

“So is Genevive Abbott, you know?” Dorcas pulls the next name she can think of- her fellow chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Remus nods, probably not knowing who Genevive is but agreeing all the same. 

“You won’t tell anyone, though, yeah?” He asks finally although the answer should be clear by now. Dorcas mimes zipping her lips.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” 


	45. [YR 4] Dead Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh... the awkward pain of 4th year (aka.. freshman year). tough times for all involved!

_ when i met you we were young, and like gasoline to matches _

_ but you ain’t no saint and i ain’t one either  _

**m**

On the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year in late September, Remus says he’s feeling too ill to go and looks it: pale and shaky. So while his friends head off to wreak havoc in the village, Marlene stays at school with Remus and keeps him company. The day starts off sort of badly- since Remus doesn’t make it down to breakfast and Marlene spends a good few hours waiting around in the common room for him to come downstairs. 

She’d never exactly told him that she wasn’t going to Hogsmeade- he’d just told her the previous night at dinner that he’d been feeling ill and wasn’t going to go. So she’s unsurprised when he looks rather taken aback while descending the stairs into the common room at around half past twelve.

“Hiya, Marls, I thought you would be in Hogsmeade?” 

“Wanted to see if you were okay.” She replies, watching him continue down the stairs as though he hadn’t been interrupted. He wears dark jeans and a red jumper that’s too big for him and has patches in the sleeves from years of wear. She prefers his hair long but has to admit it looks tidier when cut short, and the gold highlights in the brown catch the light as he walks over towards the couch. 

“I’m alright.” Remus tells her unconvincingly. Ever since they met, Marlene’s been aware of the moods Remus goes through every so often. Sometimes he’s angry, and sometimes he’s quietly disconsolate in ways that make her heart ache with worry. He hardly talks about his family with her and she wonders about his mum and whether she’s doing okay. In June, at the end of third year, when she’d tried to bring up the subject of his mum, Remus had shut down the topic faster than she thought possible and seemed content never to speak about it again.

And here he is, ill and lying about how ‘alright’ he might be. She can tell something’s off because there’s no humorous sparkle in his eyes and his face is uncharacteristically pale behind the purple and red conglomeration of acne he’s unfortunately accumulated. He sits down shakily next to her on the couch and she moves in with regular affection, leaning her head against his shoulder and relaxing as he wraps his arm around her. 

“Hogsmeade gets boring, anyways. I’d rather be here with you.” 

“Thanks for staying.” Remus kisses the top of her head gently and Marlene closes her eyes, enjoying the tenderness that he doesn’t show so often. “Sorry I’m no fun.”

“I don’t mind.” They sit in the common room and talk for a while, but Remus’s responses get shorter and shorter like he’s lost the desire to keep up a conversation. After a while, he asks if she’d mind him lighting up a smoke and she suggests taking it outside, getting some fresh air. Remus hesitates at first and she wonders if he  _ is  _ genuinely ill after all, but gives in. 

Remus moves slowly and it takes them a while to get out of the castle. He seems to be limping a little and though Marlene knows he’ll hate her for asking about it, she does anyways.

“Are you alright?” She knows that she won’t get a straight answer and asks anyway, because there’s a purpose in letting people you love know that you’re  _ there,  _ even if they still aren’t ready to talk. 

“Yeah,” he responds gruffly as they walk jerkily down the steps leading outside. “I did something funny to my leg over the summer and was walking on it when I shouldn't've. I went to Pomfrey, it’s okay.” 

“Okay.” Marlene doesn’t push and Remus doesn’t continue with the topic. Instead, he picks up the pace as they step through the grass to get to the greenhouses- a prime location to sit and smoke a fag in nice weather. It’s a little chilly as summer has shifted into autumn, and Marlene tugs at the sleeves of her shirt, wishing she’d worn something warmer. Remus leads her behind greenhouse three and sits down gingerly, obviously favoring his right leg. Marlene sits with her back against the greenhouse wall and her legs stretched out in front of her, watching Remus pull out his packet of fags and light up a smoke.

He blows the smoke away from her out of civility. She watches his hands shake as he holds the cigarette and then resorts to fiddling with the muggle lighter, like he’s got something weighing badly on his mind. 

“Can I try?” She asks, feeling distinctly childlike. 

“Hm?” Remus glances over at her and she feels warm at just having his attention. Those eyes of his, brown and green, always seem to get her feeling stupid and rather histriotic. “A fag?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” He hands his cigarette to her and she takes a pull on the end the way she’s watched him do so many times. The smoke is harsh in her throat and she coughs a few times, hanging the fag back to him as he smiles knowingly.

“They made me ill the first time I smoked. Coughed up a racket.”

“And you decided to do it again?” Remus shrugs and offers the fag back to Marlene, who gives it another go.

“Peer pressure, like. Not my fault. I’m a bad influence on you, look!” 

“Nah, you’re good for me.” 

“D’you think?”

“I’ve only served Quidditch-related detentions, so chalk it up to James and Sirius. Never you.”

“Hm.” She hands the fag back to him and he smokes the rest of it. His blemished cheeks hollow out when he inhales and his jaw is a dark slash as he turns his head to exhale. In and out. She looks at the newish scar on his jaw. He hadn’t had it when they’d met, and acquired it sometime during first or second year. She doesn’t really remember. “Remus, where’d you get the scars?” She’s wanted to know for years. She’s wanted to know ever since they met.

He drops the burnt end of the cigarette on the ground and crushes it out under his worn boot before looking at her. And he’s hurt, that much is clear from the furrow in his brow and the dark look in his eyes. 

“Bear attack, like. Vicious things, they are.”

“Seriously?” Those hunted eyes flicker up to meet her own blue ones and Remus turns his head away from her, unknowingly displaying that same scar along his jaw. “You know I won’t judge.”

“Leave it, Marlene. Just leave it.” He’s looking at the wall of the greenhouse behind him and shifts around so he’s facing the wall. “Look,” he mumbles- pointing at the dark wood making up the greenhouse. There’s some initials carved into the wood and he traces his fingers over them- P.M + D.S one on top of the other, S.R & V.L joined in a heart. “Shall we add to it?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Marlene says hesitantly. He’d brushed off her (admittedly) insensitive question with such frank ease that she’s still unsettled by his lack of an honest response. But he’s not going to talk, so she follows his instructions and leaves it. At least they’ve got a change in topic now. 

Marlene moves close to him and reads the rest of the initials of former Hogwarts students joined together. Remus pulls a pocket knife from his trousers and flicks the edged silver blade out. “Wow, that’s properly dangerous.”

“Yeah, I sharpened it the other day.” Remus fingers the wooden handle and frowns down at the blade. “My mate back home gave it to me last year.”

“Nice gift.”

“Isn’t it?” Remus leans in and holds his hand against the wall, pocket knife gripped precariously. He starts scratching out his initials- R.L and Marlene feels a little rush when her M.M. joins them. He adds a hasty ‘74 underneath their initials. “Shall I do a heart?”

“Let me, I’ve got to do part of the work.”

“Fair.” He hands her the pocket knife and watches as she carves out a messy heart around their initials. They sit in their smoky haze and look at their initials joined together forever in the dark wood.

**r**

Remus is happy to keep Marlene satisfied with the stupid heart in the greenhouse they drew up on the day before the full moon. It had been a miserable transformation and he’d ended up with a broken leg that pronounced his limp worse than ever. He’s tried to move on from the depression of last year, and since Madam Pomfrey’s loaded him up with all sorts of potions it sort of works, but he’s then left angry and anxious instead of sad. 

It seems that there’s no clear way to feel better forever. Lycanthrophy had been frustrating enough on its own. Being bitten and then forced to live with a crippling physical illness that worsens over time had taken its toll on Remus and he had learned to understand that there’s no cure. But mental health is different and he’s so  _ angry  _ about it all, that he gets suicidal and heartbroken for no good reason at all and that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

There’ll be good days- like ones in the summer where him and Sion can kiss and hold hands in the comfort of the thicket of trees where Stanley had taught them to smoke the first time. Or days at Hogwarts like last week, when he’d privately asked James for his pocket knife back. James had the good sense not to make the situation embarrassing when Remus had asked for it back.

He’d asked if Remus was sure and Remus had nodded, hands stuffed bashfully in his pockets while James set about finding the knife. He’d pressed the closed wooden blade into Remus’s hand and told him openly- “I’m always happy to hang onto it.”

“Right.” Remus had mumbled as he slipped the knife back into his pocket. “Cheers.” James had thumped him on the back and gone back to his work. The knife now rests as a familiar weight in Remus’s pocket, reminding him of Sion and his handsome sharp face, the way he and Remus had snuck around all summer as though no one existed in the world but just them and how happy they were to feel that way. 

And then they’d both been suddenly thrown back into everyday life: Remus reminded guiltily of his relationship with Marlene and the shameful secrets he’s got to keep at school, Sion left alone in Northern Wales with a year full of drinking, smoking, and bunking off school ahead of him. A year without Remus in it. 

Remus finds himself thinking of Sion often, and is doing so in a rather dreamy fashion today as he wanders into Defense Against the Dark Arts, prepared to sit for another lecture on zombies. Unfortunately, no such thing happens. 

“Boggarts!” Their new teacher, an old man named Professor Roberts, announces with a clap of his hands. “Who can tell me what a boggart is?” Remus raises his hand slowly, hoping that they’re just learning about them and not doing anything practical. “Yes, Mr. Lupin!”

“They’re shapeshifters that take the shape of someone’s worst fear.” 

“Very good! Now, Mr. Filch has informed me that he’d found a boggart in our very own castle, hidden away in a closet, and I was wondering if any of you would be up for a field trip to go see it?” The class remains more or less silent. Unsurprisingly, James Potter is the first to speak up.

“I would love to vanquish the boggart, Professor Roberts!”

“Brilliant, Mr. Potter! That’s five points to Gryffindor. Anyone else?” James gets up to stand by the door with Roberts and Peter follows him. Mary sighs and gets up too, which is the sign for the rest of the class to start moving. If Mary MacDonald’s doing it, everyone should be doing it. 

Sirius hangs behind and falls into step beside Remus, who’s the last person out the door. Except he’s not following the stream of classmates down to the closet where the boggart had trapped itself. 

“You’re not going?” Sirius asks as Remus turns the other way, hefting his worn school bag over his shoulder. 

“No.” Remus doesn’t want to say he’s scared of what the boggart will turn into, except he’s exactly that. Sirius just doesn’t have to know. “Dunno what’s going to happen. Make an excuse for me, if Roberts asks?”

“You’re that worried?” 

“Yeah, to be honest, I am.” Remus hadn’t meant to snap but it comes out that way and Sirius takes a wary step back.

“Where’re you going?”

“Library. Don’t worry about me. Have fun with the boggart.” Remus turns away and walks down the hallway, half hoping that Sirius will follow behind him. But he doesn’t. Remus doesn’t look back until he’s turned a corner and only then glances around the wall to see Sirius jogging back down the hall, looking to catch up with the rest of the class. 

Defense is a double period this year so after an hour and a half of doing work in the library, Remus moves outside to the courtyard to smoke a fag and reside rather uncomfortably with his own thoughts. He wonders what his boggart would’ve been: a full moon, a terrifying werewolf he’d only seen through his own eyes, himself locked in a cell at the Ministry? None of it would have been good. 

When the clocktower bell rings at three, Remus prepares himself for a dreaded case of social interactions, but he hadn’t been expecting to speak to some near-strangers. Alan Smith, a Hufflepuff in his Defense class, spots him sitting in the wide stone window and approaches him. Remus doesn’t see him walk up and jumps in surprise when he’s addressed, spinning around with the fag dropping from his fingers as Alan saunters up to him.

“Alright, Lupin? Hiding out here from the boggarts, I see?” He’s got another boy with him whose name Remus doesn’t remember. Remus doesn’t reply. “A little too sensitive for these sorts of things? Very scary for you?”

“Couldn’t be worse than your face, Smith.” Remus tells him with false confidence. 

“Oh really, is that what you think? We were wondering what yours was, everyone was curious once Roberts had asked where you’d gone. What could your worst fear be, your ciggies gone missing? McKinnon off with another bloke?” Remus scoffs at their stupidity.

“A nasty case of acne?” Smith’s friend offers and the two of them laugh as Remus’s face heats up.

“A big bad monster under the bed? Is that what gave you all those scars, huh, Lupin?” 

“Piss off,” Remus growls, pulling his wand from his robes. 

“Ooh, you  _ are _ scared of monsters! What gave you all those ugly scars, then, a dragon?” Smith’s friend laughs as Alan continues talking. “Or a troll? Maybe it got you confused for one of its own. Ah, maybe a werewolf!” 

“ _ Furnunculus!”  _ Remus shouts, waving his wand and sending a jet of golden light at Smith, who staggers backwards and reaches up to his face, which has broken out in festering boils. Neither of the Hufflepuffs waste anymore time with Remus- Smith lets off a string of expletives while touching his blistering face and his friend pulls him away, presumably off to the hospital wing. 

Remus lets out a long breath, not even guilty for casting the spell. It feels sort of good, actually. Since coming back to school, he’d been subject to more taunting than usual about his scars and skin because of the blasted case of awful acne that had developed over the summer. Dorcas’s cream has kept it at bay so far but it hasn’t started going away just yet, and it’s just another thing for Remus to worry about. Bloody fucking teenage problems.

Why is he the only one cursed with looking like a spotty git and feeling like a depressed failure at all times? And now- bullying? Like they’re second years again? With too many unanswerable questions on his mind, Remus settles for another cigarette to cool him down and waits for his friends to arrive. 

**j**

Quidditch trials had been a relatively dramatic affair this year, for two main reasons that counteract each other. The first had been that after winning the Quidditch Cup last year, any Gryffindor who had ever mounted a broom decided that they wanted to play for the house team, and James had been shocked by the turnout for trials that year. The second reason is more of an issue, because Izzy had told the team that if no one was planning on quitting, she herself was planning on keeping the team exactly the same. 

This had been properly good news to everyone, for James felt like their team had never been better and they all got along well and played even better together. The one issue had been the departure of Rosa Corrals, who had played beater since her second year and had graduated Hogwarts the previous year. So a good number of students had shown up to try out and Izzy had informed them that there was only one position open. All of this had culminated in something close to a riot, when, after hours of trials, Izzy had decided on her new beater. 

And it had been Gideon Prewett.

“Oh, this is lush!” He’d called cluelessly over a clamoring of younger voices. 

“He’s your friend!” A second year had complained. “That’s biased!”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” The second year’s friend had asked. “That’s, like… what’s that called? There’s a word for that!”

“Nepotism.” Sirius had offered unhelpfully.

“Nepotism!” The boy called, pointing rudely at Izzy and Gideon, the former of which had gone red in the face and the latter seemed to not care too much about the problems he’d created by being given the position.

“His  _ brother’s  _ my boyfriend!” Izzy had shouted, losing her generally calm temperament. 

“They’re twins, it’s the same-”

“Now sod off, the both of you!” Izzy gestured at them as though they’d been flies. “All of you!” She called, pointing at the students hovering around, waiting to talk to her as though she’d give them another chance. “Come back next year! Or don’t, honestly, none of us will be leaving!” A grumbling group of Gryffindors in sweaty Quidditch kits had stormed off the pitch while Izzy avoided eye contact with the ever cheerful Gideon. 

“Well, that was fun!” He turned to address his fellow beater. “McKinnon, you and I are going to do great work together.”

“I should hope so!” Marlene had replied, laughing as she shook his proffered hand and then following Izzy into the changing rooms. James and Sirius had followed behind, talking aimlessly about the trials. James gets on to the topic of Lily Evans, as he often does without thinking, and Sirius listens wordlessly as they lock up their brooms and Sirius puts away his keeper gear. 

They’re on the way back to the castle when Hyatt calls after James.

“James, if you don’t mind, could I talk to you for a mo’?” Sirius shoots him a questioning look and James shrugs, gesturing back up at the castle in a way that says  _ you go ahead.  _ They do that a lot, wordless communication, and Sirius shrugs endearingly before chasing after Marlene and Nate, calling: “McKinnon, Neary, wait up!” 

“What’s up?” James asks Hyatt, falling behind to talk to him.

“Look, mate, I know you and Lily are close,” he begins, which isn’t true at all, since James seems to find himself being pushed farther and farther away from her, “but would it be too much to ask you to back off?”

“What?” James demands cluelessly.

“Me and her are dating, yeah? And it’s sort of weird to hear you talking about her all the time, especially when you’ve got a girl.”

“ _ I’ve  _ got a girl?” James wonders out loud. Hyatt looks at him as though he’s grown another head. 

“Katie Robinson?”

“Oh!” James has nearly (essentially) forgotten about his Ravenclaw ‘girlfriend’ and laughs nervously to cover up what has to be shame. “Katie! Right! How could I forget?” Hyatt’s still staring at him and James walks a little faster. 

“Aren’t you dating her?”

“It’s sort of… you know, we haven’t really discussed it. All that much. Maybe we should.”

“Yeah, probably.” Hyatt keeps his pace so they’re still side by side and James thinks about possible escape routes from this conversation. “Just lay off Lily, okay? She’s taken.”

“Got it.” James mumbles, face all hot with embarrassment. “Sorry.” 

“You’re alright. Talk to Robinson, then, if you’re looking for a date. She was watching you all through trials.” James wants to say  _ I know,  _ because he’d been at Ravenclaw trials with Sirius and thought about Lily through all of it, knowing she’d look properly beautiful dressed in a Quidditch kit and up on a broomstick. Katie and Benjy Fenwick had been at Gryffindor’s trials, along with a few other players from other houses, but James had waved at the two of them once before continuing his flying. 

This hurts a bit, not getting what he wants and having to settle for less. Not that Katie’s  _ less.  _ She’s just not Lily, is all. And at the end of the day, no one can compare to Lily. 


	46. [YR 4] Safe in Your Skin

_ when you’re feeling safe in your skin, maybe we’ll meet again _

**j**

It’s at dinnertime after an exhausting day of classes when Professor Dumbledore announces the news. James had been adding countless random ingredients to Sirius’s bowl of soup while he wasn’t looking and wondering when he would notice, when the headmaster stepped up to his podium and called on the attention of the school. 

“Hello, hello!” James quiets from his conversation with Peter and looks up at Dumbledore. His robes are a sparkling, rich indigo color that glitters like the night sky. Velvety. James thinks that he’s got a magnificent sense of fashion. 

“Autumn is now upon us, and our groundskeeper Hagrid is working on growing a magnificent number of pumpkins of a stunning size.” It’s only natural for Dumbledore to stand up and make a speech about pumpkins, of all things. “Hogwarts hosts a ball for its students every year, and this year I’ve found no time like the present to host it. We will be presenting a Halloween Ball on October 31st this year. As always, fourth years and above are allowed to attend, and younger students may be present if invited and escorted by an older student.” 

Dumbledore continues talking about autumn and pumpkins and festivities, but the entire group surrounding James has descended into excited chatter. He usually doesn’t give a toss about the balls, since the previous years he’d been too young to go. Last years’ had taken place late in the year, sort of a summer themed one, and the year before that had been a Christmas celebration. But Halloween- merlin! That’s exciting!

Marlene is whispering excitedly to an absolutely dismayed looking Remus, and James glances instinctively across the table at Lily, who’s looking at Hyatt- sitting with his fifth year friends. Blast. 

“Will you be going with Katie, James?” Mary asks him, shaking him out of his distracted daze. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I suppose. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll get a date.” Mary sounds self assured so James doesn’t ask anything else, instead turning to Peter.

“Will you go, Pete?”

“If I find someone to go with.” Peter looks hopefully at Mary who wags a finger back and forth at him. 

“I’m sure you will.” James assures him without much passion in his voice. Thus begins the Halloween Ball Date-Finding Frenzy of 1974. Remus is the first to get a date, and the unhappiest about the entire situation.

“The bloody fucking  _ stinking _ full moon is on Halloween!” He shouts once they’re back in the dorms, tearing wildly at his hair. “And Marlene’s all set on having me take her and I’m going to have to  _ lie _ !” He groans, covering his red face with his hands. “I can’t tell her in  _ advance _ that I’ll be ill, or my mum will conveniently be  _ dying _ the night of the dance! This is a bloody fucking disaster! I’m just going to have to… christ, I don’t know what to do!”

“You can come for a little while? Leave early?” Peter offers uselessly. The rest of the marauders sit and watch Remus pace the room while essentially tearing his hair out. 

“And spend the ball retching on her dress?” Remus demands hopelessly. Sirius giggles and Remus turns to him with heat in his eyes. “ _ Don’t  _ laugh at me.”

“Sorry.” 

“I’m just going to have to stand her up.” Remus says with finality. “I’m going to stand her up and she’s going to break up with me.” None of them say anything. “I’m the worst person in the entire world.”

“It’s really not your fault, Moony.” James mumbles in a way he hopes is helpful, but Remus just shakes his head and continues pulling at his hair which is sticking up everywhere. 

“Moony, don’t do that. The last thing you need is a bald spot.” Sirius says in a voice still choked with laughter. Remus sends him a downright murderous look and stomps back to his bed, slamming a few heavy books on top of each other, grabbing his bag, spitting in a voice of venom that he’s going to the library, and then leaves 

“Tough love, innit?” James says inconsiderately. It’s no trouble for him to get a date. After a Transfiguration lesson with the Ravenclaws on Wednesday afternoon, James asks Katie Robinson to the ball with him. They’ve been learning the water making spell which James had perfected last year (he’s working at a fifth or sixth year level by now) and he’d had the brilliant idea of writing an invitation to her in water. 

He’d sat up too straight in his desk and peered over at her own while organizing water droplets on her desk to spell out- HALLOWEEN BALL WITH ME? Katie looks down at the water on her desk and moves to wipe the condensation away but pauses for a moment, reading the message on her desk. Her freckled face turns pink and she looks up and around the room, glancing over at James who drops her a wink. A grin stretches across her face and she holds up two thumbs up before covering her face with her hands and turning to her friend, showing her the message written in water.

Sirius Black himself had been asked out by multiple girls throughout the week and turned them all down without much regard for their feelings. After one Quidditch practice where a Slytherin girl had hurried down from the stands to ask him to go and she’d left crying, both Marlene and James had some reservations about their friend’s behavior.

“Don’t you think you could spare some empathy?” Marlene asks as they walk back into the changing rooms. 

“ _ She _ asked  _ me _ ! I was just turning her down!.”

“You told her she could’ve tried harder.”

“She could have!”

“There’s some things that just don’t need saying.” James offers. Sirius gives him a dramatic, wounded look. “Don’t you  _ want _ a date?” Sirius shrugs as though it doesn’t matter either way who he goes with.

“I’ll find someone I like to go with.”

“Well, Mary’s already found someone, so don’t hold out hope for her.” Marlene tells him in a no-nonsense voice. 

“I don’t want to go with MacDonald! Been there, done that.” Sirius speaks dismissively as though Mary’s another nobody asking him to the ball, and Marlene gives James a shocked look that reads  _ aren’t you going to say something?  _ No, in fact, he isn’t. James just shrugs while Marlene takes it upon herself to teach Sirius the concept of chivalry. When they head back into the castle, all of them are in for a shock when Peter explains that he’s found himself a date. 

“Who?” Sirius demands in a shocked tone.

“Moira O’Brien.” Sirius makes a choking noise that earns a loud scoff and eye roll from Marlene. 

“She’s going with  _ you _ ?” Sirius demands in shock, not having expected Peter Pettigrew to find a date before him. Peter shrugs, apparently unaware of the surprise he’d caused by finding himself a date. 

“She thinks I’m funny.”

“Oh! Moira O’Brien thinks you’re  _ funny _ !”

“Don’t be so jealous, Sirius.” James tells him with a hint of sharpness in his voice. 

“I’m not- I’m not  _ jealous!  _ I could go with any girl I want!” Sirius looks up as Dorcas, Kingsley, and Emmeline walk into the dining hall. They’re not headed for the Gryffindor table until Sirius beckons the trio over, and Marlene starts muttering under her breath that Dorcas is  _ not  _ the person for Sirius to mess with. 

“It’s not  _ her _ I want,” he mutters rudely, earning another scathing look from Marlene. He stands up as Dorcas and Emmeline come closer, Kingsley hanging behind to talk to Hyatt at the end of the table- most likely about Quidditch strategy. “Vance, have you got a date to the Halloween ball?” Sirius asks the blonde haired girl, who raises her eyebrows.

“No, not yet.”

“Fancy going with me?” Emmeline doesn’t blush or lose her composure like so many other girls would, she just looks Sirius dead in the eye and says with finality-

“Fine.” Then, after an impartial shrug of the shoulders and a wave at Marlene, she and Dorcas leave without any formalities.

“See? Any girl I want! I don’t need someone to sob over my beauty.” Sirius says as he turns back to his plate. “She’s level headed.” Marlene and James share an exhausted look but find themselves a little more pleased, at least, that Sirius’s search for a date has come to a satisfying end.

**r**

Remus is sick of hearing about dates and dances and other things he’s going to miss out on due to the full moon being scheduled by whatever higher power to take place on the same night. He’s frustrated- by the Halloween ball, by what Alan Smith had said to him in the courtyard, by his blasted awful acne. 

This frustration leads to poor decision making on his part, when he stops taking the potions Madam Pomfrey had allocated for him and instead elects to spend the night getting drunk on the Astronomy tower with none other than Sirius Black. Remus had been weaning himself off of the potions for a while because he finds it a little desperate to depend on medicine to get him through the day, and so far he hasn’t been faced with any of the effects which had plagued him so constantly the previous year. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s privileged to be able to put the past in the past and forget how much every day hurt: how he couldn’t eat without being sick, how he couldn’t sleep without waking up sobbing, how he tried to kill himself that night in February when it all became too much to bear. He’s feeling better now, so why bother taking them? No one else knows about the potions he’s supposed to take and he reckons that if James did, they’d be having some arguments, but he doesn’t. Blissfully. 

Remus and Edgar Bones, the sixth year Gryffindor with a liquor stash to rival the Three Broomsticks’, have developed an amicable relationship over the years. Remus used to go to Edgar as a middle-man for his fag buying expeditions (Caradoc Dearborn, head cigarette seller, is a Hufflepuff and more often than not very hard to find) and now goes to him for alcohol as well. So it’s on a Wednesday night in mid October when they don’t have classes early the next morning that Remus invites Sirius to go get drunk with him.

He creeps across the darkened floor and taps at Sirius’s curtains, giving them a shake so the other boy knows he’s there. 

“Sirius?” He whispers. A noise of affirmation from inside and Remus draws the curtains back. Sirius is lying with his hands behind his head, staring up at the darkness hanging above his four poster. His eyes flicker over to where Remus stands with his bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. “Want to get drunk?” 

Sirius wraps up in a warm cloak while Remus just wears his thick jumper up to the tower. They sit side by side, sharing the bottle. The taste is bitter, bad, but they’re young boys who find it embarrassing to show weakness in terms of not liking the taste of liquor. They drink drink drink until it’s time to talk talk talk and Remus is eager to get his words out, no matter how slurred and unintelligible they may seem.

“I’m so jealous and it feels so awful but I’m angry.” Remus tells Sirius. Means it. “I know Marlene’s going to break up with me and there’s nothing I can do.”

“You could tell her about the werewolf issue.”

“No, I can’t.” Remus had promised his father before going to Hogwarts that he wouldn’t tell anyone his secret and so far, he’s kept to that promise. It doesn’t count if someone figures it out for themself. “I can’t just go around telling people I’m a bloody werewolf.” Remus looks up at the sky. There’s a new moon; no silvery light shining down to wash Sirius out in a sterling spotlight. Not like usual. The alcohol burns warm in his throat and he draws his knees up to his chest like a child, wrapping his arms around his legs. 

“I feel like Marlene would…” Sirius trails off, tipsy and trying to organize his thoughts. “I don’t think she’d be… I don’t… hmm…. I don’t think it’s a bad idea to tell her.”

“I do.” Remus mumbles. He’s bleary eyed and Sirius is so nice to look at that his eyes stay sort of zoned out as he looks over the other boy’s face. “I don’t want her to break up with me.”

“Well, you could guilt trip her. You could say your mum was super ill...”

“And she’ll say how convenient it happened on Halloween!”

“... And you could say ‘Marlene, she’s got  _ cancer,  _ she’s  _ dying,  _ and you’re inconsiderate enough to be thinking about the ball? When my mum’s  _ dying? _ ’” Remus chews at his cheek. The lie of his mum having cancer has gotten old by now. He likes it even less now that she’s become a little ill and a lot manic. She’s mad, now. He can’t even bring friends around. Sirius notes his silence and continues. 

“Moony, if your relationship is that important to you, then you’ve got to tell her.” 

“Mmm.” Remus mumbles noncommittally. He takes another swig of the brandy and coughs a little, shaking his head back and forth before handing it back to Sirius. “I hate my life and everything’s so unfair.”

“Yeah…” Sirius’s grey eyes are low and tired in the moonlight. 

“And I don’t even have it that bad. It could be worse. I mean, poor Dorcas, and Mary, and Lily. And every muggleborn. Dorcas took me to the dueling club, you know? Practicing self defense? Because she’s been attacked? I mean, christ… imagine not being able to walk the halls without being scared. It’s bad, Sirius.” Sirius doesn’t reply. “This war, I mean, it’s becoming worse. It’s awful.” Sirius remains silent.

“Who’s such an awful person that they just want to wipe out a whole… race? A whole type of people? Why are people so  _ hateful?  _ It’s like World War Two,” Remus continues, on a drunken rant now, “with the Jews and, Merlin, it was so  _ awful.  _ We learned about it in primary school. And I was, like, fascinated for no reason but the more I read about it the sadder I got. You’d be living your life and then the Nazis come and your life is over. Your family, your friends, all gone. Taken to a concentration camp and gassed and that’s it. You’re dead. Because you’re Jewish. That’s all. Doesn’t matter if you’re ten years old or ninety. You’re dead.” Sirius watches him silently.

“And it’s, well, I don’t know if we could call this the same. It isn’t the same, right, but it’s the same idea. Same ideology, right? Hating Jews, hating muggles, what’s the bloody point? I feel so bad about it all!” 

“My brother,” Sirius croaks at last, “met Voldemort over the summer.” Remus falls silent, blinking in disbelief. “I was invited. Private meeting and all. Didn’t go.” Now, Remus understands the relief of not speaking. There’s nothing his words can add. “ _ Wouldn’t _ go, you know. The pureblooded shite, it’s all I’ve been raised to think and I’ll never understand it. Never will.”

“Good.” Sirius shakes his head, black hair sweeping at his pale face.

“There’s just no way to relate to it unless you’ve been raised to hate. Unless you  _ do  _ hate. It doesn’t have to be muggles, necessarily, it’ll just end up misguided. And it’s odd, because I didn’t think Regulus was hateful. He’s always been…. quiet. You know, peaceful enough. He’s not a bad person.” Remus has never spoken to Regulus and can’t quite comment.

“He’s just been raised by bad people.” Sirius sighs. “I think he wants to prove himself. Because we’ve been raised to try to prove ourselves. But I couldn’t give a toss. I’m the family disappointment.” 

“You’re not a disappointment.” Remus mumbles quietly. 

“I am, though. To them.” 

“Not to me, or James, or Peter. And who matters more, us or them?” Sirius looks away from him, swallowing hard as he looks off into the blurry black of the night sky. “Stay brave, Sirius. You’re stronger than you know.” 

**m**

Marlene McKinnon doesn’t consider herself as girly or fashion-forward as the rest of her friends, but still lets herself get lost in the lighthearted excitement of getting ready for the dance. The three Gryffindor girls spend the afternoon of Halloween in the Hufflepuff dorms with Dorcas and Emmeline, doing their hair and helping each other with makeup as they prepare for the ball that evening.

Emmeline’s dress is decidedly skimpy. It’s golden and glitters, looking nice from afar, but up close it’s nearly the texture of sandpaper. She looks like she’s been gift wrapped. Mary and Lily have been put in charge of doing hair and Mary had taken charge with Emmeline’s short blonde locks- curling and fluffing the edges so it looks like her hair swoops up as it meets her jaw. 

Mary herself looks father fetching. She has a coral colored dress with a halter neck that shows off her striking collarbones. Dorcas has done pink eyeshadow and matching bright lipstick, and with her frizzy natural hair and hooped gold earrings, Mary looks like she could win a fashion contest. She’d been asked to the ball by Danny Hunter, a Slytherin that had joined in the late night Quidditch games orchestrated by James the previous year.

Lily has a dark green, flowy dress with a pleated front. She looks the most dignified of all of them. The dress has sheer sleeves with lace cuffs at the end. Marlene doesn’t look too interesting- she has a hand-me-down dress from her sister that’s pale blue with thin straps and a line of lace ruffles going down the side. It’s a little too short for her and she’s chosen to wear flats because she’d be much too tall in heels. Lily had blow dried Marlene’s hair so it’s puffy and blown out down her back. Her makeup is minimal but she thinks she looks alright. Pretty enough. 

Dorcas is the one Marlene’s really stuck by. She’s wearing something daringly casual- a literal sundress. It’s long and red with white polka dots, a knot tied in the front and buttons down the bottom. It’s nearly sleeveless, and her toned, tanned arms are shown off by the sharp cut of it. Her eyebrows are dark, her lips a deep red, and has no date to speak of. ‘Going stag’ she had said, then laughed. Marlene’s obsessed with her outfit and how both boyish and gorgeous she looks at the same time. 

Lily levitates her camera out in front of them and gets it to take pictures of them blindly. All five of them laugh and giggle together giddily as the time for the ball draws closer and closer. The ball starts at 8:00 so they leave to meet up with their dates at 7:50. Marlene’s privately thrilled at the idea of seeing Remus in dress robes (or a suit, if she’s being honest). She imagines him tugging at his bowtie, how it would look cut against his neck, how he’d look so tall and thin and handsome.

But when her, Lily, and Emmeline walk up to the bottom of Gryffindor tower to meet their dates, there’s only two boys standing there. It’s fair to say that both Ibex and Black look stunning in their dress robes. Black’s are a velvety dark green color that catch the light when he moves, and they make his pale skin look almost alabaster. His shirt underneath is pitch black and he looks nearly  _ goth,  _ but his good natured grin at the sight of Emmeline in her thin, gaudy dress makes him look much less scary.

Ibex, on the other hand, looks a little less batlike in his robes. His aren’t as avant garde as Sirius’s- just regular black and white, but his white bow tie brightens the sameness between the dark of his robes and his brown skin. 

“Where’s Remus?” Marlene asks, her voice coming out a bit harsher than intended. Black looks at her with a very regretful expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, McKinnon, genuinely. His mum’s properly ill. Emergency situation. He really, really wanted to come.” Marlene feels a choking sensation in her throat and sees the awkward, serious expressions of her friends around her. “He gave me this, for you.” Black digs around in his pocket and presents a somewhat crushed corsage to her. It’s a sprig of beautiful white flowers tied with a blue ribbon. Like he’d known what color her dress was.

Ibex takes Lily’s hand and gives Marlene a sad look as they start off through the halls. 

“I’m really sorry. He is too, Marlene.” Black tells her softly before winding his arm through Emmeline’s and leading her off towards the Great Hall, which had been transformed into a ballroom for the occasion. Marlene swallows the lump in her throat and follows behind them. There’s nowhere else for her to go, really. Should she go back to the dorms and study with the third years? Ha! 

Couples are entering the Great Hall and Marlene hugs herself tightly in a weak attempt to make herself feel better. Why has she let herself get so upset about this? All she wanted was to spend a nice night with Remus, dancing and laughing and talking like a proper couple and now he’s… he’s left. He hasn’t come. And she knows his mum is badly ill and it’s not at all his fault, but she’s still so  _ hurt _ . Doesn’t she have a right to be upset? And didn’t she know, underneath it all, that something like this would happen? Remus isn’t the most punctual and can’t always be counted on to make his appointments. 

“Where’s the mysterious Mr. Lupin?” Comes a familiar voice behind her. Marlene turns and feels a rush of relief when she sees Dorcas standing there with a curious expression on her face.

“Had to go home.” Marlene tells her in a choked voice. “His mum’s really ill.” Dorcas’s expression darkens for a moment before the look on her face clears. 

“Shame. Hope she’s alright. No matter, we can still dance! Come on, you’re all dolled up! You’ve got to make an appearance.”

“Come on, really? I’m sort of...” Marlene doesn’t get the chance to finish her sentence, still searching for words other than ‘fed up and sad’ to describe how she’s feeling. Dorcas takes Marlene’s hands in her own and holds them very tightly. Her warm brown eyes focus seriously on Marlene’s.

“Marls, that boy is nothing to be upset about. He doesn’t deserve you. Now, come on. It seems I’ve found a date after all!” Dorcas pulls her into the Great Hall where a wizarding band, The Hobgoblins, are playing. Marlene is glad that there’s no waltz or anything or the sort going on (though there may very well be later on) and she lets Dorcas distract her for the night.

And, to Marlene’s surprise, it works. 

They dance, get some food, talk to Mary and Danny for quite a while (Danny has a wicked sense of humor and gets the three of them laughing themself into stitches), and dance even more. Dorcas looks a vision in her red sundress and dark lipstick: talking, laughing, and singing the whole night away. When the ball ends at midnight, Marlene has essentially forgotten about Remus and his upsetting antics. 

Lily and Hyatt kiss and say goodnight so Marlene, Dorcas, and Lily go up to the Gryffindor dorms to listen to Lily’s Queen record and rate people’s outfits. Mary had snuck off somewhere with Danny Hunter, and Moira hadn’t yet returned from her date with Peter. It’s very late by the time Moira gets in, and Marlene invites Dorcas to stay the night- which means her sleeping in Marlene’s bed and more often than not insinuating a tickle fight that Marlene always loses.

When they’re tucked into the darkness of bed after a long, exhausting night, Marlene only spares a few moments to think about Remus. She imagines himself alone at his house in Wales, worried about his mum. This makes her feel bad. She’s been upset at being stood up and his mum is dying. How selfish can she be? 

Dorcas curls her arms tighter around Marlene, and she gives up on thinking about Remus for the night.  _ Not worth it.  _ Then, Dorcas’s voice in her head, telling her words that made so much sense at the time but so little now. 

_ He doesn’t deserve you.  _


	47. [YR 4] Turns to Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this hit 3k hits... holy shit! that's a lot of ppl reading! thank you all very much. this chapter is definitely one of my favorites (FINALLY some ~lowkey~ wolfstar but it's wolfstar all the same) and i hope you enjoyyy
> 
> (p.s., listen to stairway to heaven and perhaps skip ahead to 5:55 to listen to the part of the song that gets sirius going crazy (in love). will be worth it i promise. what is music if not a vessel of love?)

_ there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run _

_ there’s still time to change the road you’re on  _

**s**

Sirius had gotten properly plastered at the Halloween Ball. 

Emmeline’s voice had gotten a little too loud after a while, and both James and Peter had been otherwise occupied with their dates, so Sirius had sought out the ever-evasive Edgar Bones in hopes of a drink, and had been rewarded with many more than expected. Or deserved, honestly. 

So it’s no surprise when he wakes up in the morning with a blearing hangover, immediately enraged by the familiar sound of The Yes Album playing from James’s corner of the room. It’s not necessarily at a high volume but to Sirius- sensitive and nauseous on this November morning- it sounds like it’s being played through the loudest speakers in the whole world.

“James, if you don’t turn that shit off I’ll smash your bloody player!” Sirius shouts. He fucking  _ hates  _ Yes. With their thirty minute songs, useless warbling guitar solos, and generally sickening melodies, he wonders how they’ve made it big enough in the world for pureblooded James Potter to have stumbled upon their music and fallen in love.

“No need to be rude about it!” James calls back, turning off the music. Thank god. Sirius pulls back the curtains of his bed and hisses at the sunlight streaming in, covering his eyes as he staggers to the bathroom. It’s locked, no surprise there, and he can hear Peter retching inside. Well, at least he isn’t the  _ most  _ hungover of the lot. 

“Pete’s sort of ill.” James explains uselessly. He’s sitting on the floor looking breathless after his morning exercises. Sirius hates him for being so perfect.

“You don’t even have a headache?” He asks. James shrugs.

“Nope, not really. I’m just built to live life to the fullest.”

“Right.” Sirius hesitates, his mind drawing a blank at what’s supposed to happen now. Right. Remus. “I’m going to go to the hospital wing.”

“Madam Pomfrey doesn’t have hangover draughts!”

“For Remus, you twat!” 

“Ohhh,” James laughs, scratching his head bashfully. “Shall I come?” Sirius hesitates, knowing how exhausted and halfway ashamed Remus gets when all of them crowd around his bed with excitement that he’s never able to match. 

“Maybe later, you know? He gets sort of tetchy when we’re all there.”

“Too right.” James concedes. Sirius’s pace is slow as he wanders down to the hospital wing, thinking that he may, in fact, ask Madam Pomfrey for a headache draught if he can get away with it. He’s unsurprised by the matron’s general lack of hospitality when he makes his appearance, and rethinks the headache draught decision. She tells him briefly that she’s glad there’s only one of him, and not a whole party, then instructs him to be quiet, respectful, responsible, and keep his voice under a certain level of decibels. 

Well, that’s what it sounds like to him. 

When Sirius is finally permitted to sit by Remus’s bedside, his heart sinks as he sees a fresh scar on his friend’s face. Remus is asleep and probably won’t wake up until the afternoon, but Sirius wants to be there for him as soon as he wakes up. The new scar cuts through Remus’s eyebrow, across his eyelid, and barely skirts the edge of his eye before thinning out down the edge of his cheek- ending by his ear. Sirius knows how upset Remus gets over his facial scars and wonders what his reaction will be to this one. Madam Pomfrey had cleaned up the scar and healed it to the best of her ability but the wound is still fresh and pink, standing out harshly on his pale face.

Sirius sits and watches Remus in the pale morning light for a long time. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and is surprised when he hears Remus’s raspy voice gently saying his name- “Sirius. Siiiirrriuusss,” and shaking his knee. 

“Hm?” Sirius asks, blinking and shaking out his sore limbs. “Oh, Merlin, did I fall asleep?” Remus is sitting up in bed now, fully awake, and the quality of light is different. Mid to late afternoon, by the looks of it. His face is pale and tired, but his eyes twinkle amusedly.

“Long night?”

“Got pissed, yeah. You didn’t miss out though.”

“Was Marlene angry?”

“Spent the whole night dancing with Dorcas. I told her your mum was really ill, so I think she feels bad. Nothing to worry about! How are you feeling?” Remus shrugs halfheartedly in a way that says  _ I don’t want to talk about it,  _ in a way that Sirius understands without words. And Remus never will talk about it, he thinks. He’ll downplay every tremor that runs through him before the change, and he won’t talk about the endless aching agony that comes with waking up in the morning. 

They talk for a while, about things that don’t matter so much and when Remus starts getting that weary look on his face, Sirius says he’ll see him tomorrow and takes his leave. It’s Friday, but they’ve got the day off from classes because of the ball, and Sirius spends the weekend playing Quidditch with James, chess with Peter, and avoiding Emmeline Vance who seems to have assumed that one date to the ball meant they’re going to spend the rest of their lives together. 

Sirius’s fifteenth birthday takes place on Sunday. He hadn’t been expecting a great big party, and isn’t rewarded with one. People are still recovering from the festivities of Thursday night, and it’s enough of a present for Remus to be released from the hospital wing on Sirius’s birthday. He’s frankly apologetic about his lack of a gift but Sirius waves his pleas away. He’s sort of glad that his birthday isn’t a big show this year. 

They don’t really do much to celebrate, really. Sirius doesn’t have any big ideas and so he spends the day sleeping late, playing some pickup Quidditch with his mates, enduring a rather painful tea with Emmeline just to please her, and raiding the kitchens with Remus. On their way to the kitchens, they’d passed Edgar Bones leaving the Hufflepuff common room with Caradoc Dearborn, the two of them looking rather suspicious.

“Oi, Black!” Edgar had called after him. “It’s your birthday?” Sirius had turned, frowning with surprise.

“Marked it on your calendar, did you?” Dearborn laughed out loud in response, just pointing at Sirius. 

“It’s on your shirt, mate.”

“Is it?!” Sirius demanded. He’d first thought of taking his shirt off but then seen the look on Remus’s face and resorted to spinning his shirt around, looking down to read the words BIRTHDAY BOY written in red glitter upside down. “Wha-?!” Remus had descended into laughter with the two older boys while Sirius swiped at the glitter.

“It’s not going anywhere, James and I jinxed it on this morning.” Remus told him through his laughter. 

“It’s been there all  _ day?”  _ Sirius had asked, not knowing if he was more embarrassed or sort of grateful for his friends’ stupid show of affection. 

“I can give you a special sort of gift, mate.” Edgar told him. 

“God, that sounds massively perverted,” Caradoc giggled, shoving Edgar, who shoved him right back. It seems like sixth year burnouts have the same immature humor as first years. 

“Come find me in the common room, okay?” Edgar had made a drinking gesture with his pinkie and thumb and Sirius had nodded appreciatively. Him and Caradoc had turned away, staggering slightly as they giggled their way down the hall.

“You reckon they’ve already started celebrating?” Remus had asked as the pair of them disappeared down the hall. Sirius shrugged, watching with deep interest as Caradoc swung his arm around Edgar and squeezing the other boy close as they turned the corner. Remus followed his eyes and watched in familiar silence. They hadn’t discussed the odd relations just viewed, and instead opted to continue their kitchen-raiding session.

And then, the drinking.

The marauders plus Edgar, Caradoc, Gideon, and seventh year Alice Fortescue get quite drunk in the common room during dinnertime. They’ve stolen enough food from the kitchens to be set for dinner and Sirius greatly enjoys hanging out with the older students. Alice is sort of depressed now that Frank’s graduated and she’s been left ‘alone’. 

Once she gets some liquor in her, she starts rambling about his Auror training and how she’s so  _ sad _ that she’s a year behind because she’s going to do the same thing once finished at school and they’re going to live together plus they’ve already talked about marriage because they’re  _ that _ in love. 

“It’s just a few more months,” Caradoc consoles her. He’s lit up a cigarette and has his muddy boots up on the coffee table, making the Gryffindor common room his own. He has long, dark brown hair and cheeks that seem permanently flushed red. He looks at home in his Hufflepuff robes among the red and gold of their common room, and Sirius is suddenly struck by how  _ glad  _ he is that he’s been sorted into Gryffindor.

Slytherins can’t do things like this, do they? Do they have their Hufflepuff mates over and smoke fags in the common room while drinking Firewhiskey and eating birthday cake? Regulus had caught Sirius in the hall after breakfast and told him a very awkward happy birthday, and Sirius had thanked him briefly before continuing off to the Quidditch pitch. Sirius wonders how his brother spent his own birthday back in September. 

So his parents and his whole family can say what a  _ shame  _ it is that he’s been sorted into Gryffindor house but for god’s sakes, he’s happy! He’s perfectly happy and there’s nothing they can do about it! 

After dinner ends and the prefects come back, even Alice is powerless at providing excuses. She’s rather rebellious compared to her boyfriend, and seems to be enjoying hanging out with the space cadet sixth years drinking herself silly before she has to grow up, take her N.E.W.Ts and become an Auror. 

The marauders go back up to the dorms while Remus puts on one of his favorite records: Led Zeppelin IV. Sirius is truthfully a little sad that Remus hadn’t given him a record this year, since he’s received three from the boy over the past three years. Hendrix, Bowie, and Iggy and the Stooges. Still, him and Remus both love Zeppelin with a passion and James will always eagerly sing along to the wailing vocals of Black Dog while Remus does air guitar to the riffs that always get Sirius so excited. 

James does the “ah ah ahs” so dramatically that Sirius has to physically stop him from doing anymore. When he clamps his palm over James’s mouth, his friend first licks his hand and when Sirius doesn’t let up, resorts to biting him.

“Oi! You’re a disgusting menace!”

“Let me enjoy the music!” James retorts as he always does. So James continues his karaoke while the rest of them nod their heads to the beats. Sirius gets up and jumps around to Rock and Roll because he’s half cut and rolling warm with liquor and the high that music gives him. The Battle of Evermore is a little more Remus’s speed- grueling and more psychedelic, but Stairway to Heaven gets them all listening with absolute religious fervor. They all love the song to pieces. 

Sirius gets a little caught up in Remus, or maybe a  _ lot  _ caught up in Remus as the song progresses. There’s something about his eyes, and his arms, and the way his hair curls all fluffy when it’s freshly washed. Or the way he looks so peaceful for a moment as the guitar and flute lead the intro to the song. Sirius just can’t help but stare. 

Remus tilts his head back, jawline impossibly sharp in the light of the dorm, cheekbones hollow and defined. The scar he always rubs when he’s nervous, a sharp slash down his jaw, ripples silver in the light. 

“ _ Did you know, your stairway lies on the whispering wind?”  _ Remus mouths along to the song and then brings his head down to the music as the guitar solo picks up. Remus plays an imaginary air guitar and sets to work picking at an invisible fretboard, while he closes his eyes and shakes his head in time to the song. Sirius can’t look away.

Remus bangs his head and his fingers lace across the air guitar as though there’s really one beneath his fingers. Eyes closed, mouth open as the solo swells and roars a repetitive electric riff fills the dorms. Over and over, the guitar licks and flickers sharp sound like the flame of a lighter, like Remus losing himself completely in the drums and guitar that wails over everything- loud and sharp. When it reaches its climax, Remus is grinning with his mouth caught in half a laugh and then he opens up his eyes again while Robert Plant picks back up the vocals. 

Sirius is breathless and watches Remus’s amber eyes sparkle with the life that music always brings, his face drawn fully in a huge grin where, just for a moment, he’s forgotten the existence of pain. No insecurities about the scar through his brow, no discussions of war, no useless worries about girls. Just Zeppelin, Jimmy Page’s legendary guitar, and that’s all. But he’s brought back to earth as the song ends, Plant slowly singing-

“ _ And she’s buying a stairway to heaven…”  _ James claps for Remus’s fake performance and Sirius leaves the last of his daze behind him as Misty Mountain Hop begins to play.

Sirius Black never sees Remus Lupin as just a friend ever again.

He lies in bed that night cursing himself for being so daft and obsessive but it’s the same way he felt after seeing Benjy Fenwick standing in the moonlight the previous year. That had been his first experience looking at a boy and thinking  _ WOW,  _ all caps, no other thoughts, just a big wow that was much more his body than his mind speaking. And now he can’t get Remus out of his head: golden, gorgeous Remus- scarred Remus, smiling Remus, air-guitaring Remus with a grin lighting up his face into something worth thinking about forever and ever. 

Sirius has only ever kissed girls before and thinks about if it’s different to kiss a boy. If it’d be different to kiss Remus, for instance, and if he’d taste better than Mary or Emmeline. Or  _ feel  _ better. Sirius makes a useless noise of protest and rolls over onto his other side, feeling like the dumbest, queerest, most pathetic boy to have ever been born. 

Damn Remus Lupin and his stupid smile. Damn his gorgeous eyes and his freckled face and the way he could keep Sirius talking for hours and hours, if only to hear his warm hoarse voice respond…. ugh! Sirius rolls over again, burying his face in his pillow and wondering if screaming would be a proper solution to this problem. There’s nothing else he can do, really. He’s powerless in love. 

  
  


**j**

“Sirius.” Silence. “Sirius.” Still no response. James has resorted to whispering because Madam Pince will appear and probably beat his head in if he raises his voice to a regular speaking level. James has never enjoyed the library too much because it limits his ability to use his words (of which he has many to bestow). “Pete, would you get his attention?”

Peter pokes Sirius in the hip and the boy jumps in surprise, finally snapped out of his daze.

“What?” Sirius demands, looking at the two of them. 

“Have you found anything?” James asks him, understanding that his question is proving fruitless as Sirius has been staring at the same page in his textbook for the last ten minutes, at least. 

“No, I bloody well haven’t! Does it look like I have?”

“Shh!” Peter tells him frantically, obviously terrified of Madam Pince throwing them out. It’s never a pretty scene. 

“Just… look harder.” James tells him, and returns to his own copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. The three of them are trying to get specific instructions on how to become Animagi. This is an idea that Sirius had brought up at the end of third year, but they’ve all been too distracted to sit down and put their words into actions. Until now, apparently. Early November, rainy day- perfect time to sit down in the library and do research on highly illegal magic. 

After the passage of twenty minutes, Peter bends so far forward in his chair that James is afraid he’s finally given in and fallen asleep. Sirius looks on the verge of it- jaw propped on his elbow, elbow constantly sliding off of the table, eyes halfway closed, but Peter’s been rather diligent so far. Until now.

“Peter.” James whispers. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not,” Peter whispers back, focusing intently on the textbook in front of him. “No, I’m not.” He repeats. “I think…. I think I’ve found the steps.” James immediately scoots his chair over to Peter’s, ignoring the loud screeching sound it makes against the polished wood floor. The noise wakes up Sirius, though, who blinks blearily for a moment before moving his own chair on the other side of Peter’s. The three boys stare horror struck at the page in front of them.

“A mandrake leaf- for a month!?” Peter squeaks.

“What in the bloody hell is a Death’s Head Hawk Moth?” James demands.

“I don’t think there’s such things as lightning storms in Scotland!” Sirius protests. 

The three of them look at each other, dumbstruck and momentarily hopeless. 

“A month isn’t so long, I suppose…”

“I’m sure Kettleburn can help with the moth issue.”

“Lightning…. happens.” They all look at Sirius, who shrugs helplessly, before a fit of laughter overtakes them all. Sirius isn’t necessarily incorrect- lightning  _ does  _ happen- but James thinks he’ll take his chances waiting for the next lightning storm to touch down because it’ll be quite a while before they even have a potion ready. 

“When’s the next full moon, then?” Peter asks.

“29th.” Sirius tells him immediately, as though he’s got the schedule of the moons memorized. In fact, he probably does. James slips up sometimes and forgets when exactly the full moon takes place in a certain month- but he’s indirectly reminded by Remus’s shortening temper and the sad, sickly look he gets once a month.

“It’s the 29th of November to the 29th of December, exactly. Shall we do it then?”  _ It  _ is an indirect reference to having to hold Mandrake Leaves in their mouth for an entire month. 

James and Peter look at each other, then back to Sirius. Peter shrugs. James decides.

“Yeah, I think we should. The sooner the better, right?”

“Yes, exactly.” Sirius agrees, looking somewhat relieved that they’re going to get started in a few weeks’ time. 

“Keeping a leaf in our mouths for a whole month won’t be easy, though.” Peter tells them as though it’s any consolation to the tribulations they’re already struggling to come to terms with. 

“So we’ll try it first in November, and if it doesn’t work, just do it again in December. Until we get it right.” James explains. Despite the apparent and obvious challenges, he’s not planning on giving up. Not on Remus, not ever. 

“Besides, I’ll get it done properly the first time.” Sirius leans back in his chair and crosses one leg loosely across the other, chin tilted up jauntily. “No need to do it twice.”

“Right! That’s the spirit! I reckon I’ll have an easier go of it than you.” James challenges, seeing the familiar spark of competition in Sirius’s eyes. That’s the best way to get Sirius Black to do something- make it a contest that he’s desperate to win. 

“I bet you’ll swallow it the first time.” Sirius tells him. 

“I bet you’ll spit it out while brushing your teeth.” 

“I bet you’ll  _ stop  _ brushing your teeth and then your pearly whites will turn all brown and nasty.” 

“Whatever it takes, mate!” 

“Whatever it takes.” Sirius repeats while nodding knowingly. Now that the steps are laid right out in front of them and they understand what it’s going to take, everything seems a little more tangible. On November 29th, they’ll each slip the leaf of a mandrake under their tongue and keep it there until the next full moon. Just a few weeks away and they can start. Whatever it takes for Remus. 


	48. [YR 4] Pull Yourself Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for brief mentions of self harm & suicidal thoughts (aka the general negativity associated with remus lupin)

_ sometimes i get sad, it’s not all that bad, sometime maybe never i’ll come around _

_ sometimes i get mad, it’s not half as bad, pull yourself together and just calm down _

**r**

Remus starts off the month of November in a bad way. 

The first issue is waking up on November first with a scar slicing through his eyebrow- red and angry and painful for all to see. When he finds Marlene after his release from the hospital wing and apologizes to her for missing the ball, she’s just as apologetic about his mum being ill and can’t take her wide blue eyes off of the fresh scar warping his face. 

All he wishes is that everyone would leave him alone about it and just ignore the fact that his eyebrow is never going to grow back properly and his left eye will always have a bit of a slant to it because the way the scar tugs at his eyelid and it’s fine, really, it’d be fine if no one mentioned it. But they do. 

Marlene asks him flat out (in private, at least, but still) if someone at home had hurt him and Remus dodges the subject to no avail. 

“Remus, really, that’s fresh and you got it while you were gone!” Marlene supplies and Remus squirms under her gaze, thinking that there’s no lie sufficient enough to properly make up for this. They’re sitting out behind the greenhouses, swathed in a grey haze of cigarette smoke. 

“It’s not really an issue, you know, like, actually, it’s a  _ non  _ issue because it matters so little to me,” he tells her stupidly, hating himself for the way he’s invalidating her feelings. 

“But it matters to me, and you’re hurt, and I’m worried.” Marlene’s eyes aren’t pitiful but they’re on their way to being angry and Remus himself feels ill just by enduring this conversation. Should he lie about it, then? Tell her it was his dad? If he lies and says he got into a fight with muggle boys back home, she’ll know he’s lying because it’ll be too far fetched. So he lowers his head and lets out a long breath, still nervous under her worried gaze. 

“You just can’t tell anyone, okay? Not McGonagall or anybody?” Marlene frowns, opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” Remus looks at her and she continues. “I promise.”

“It’s my dad,” he tells her quickly, glad that her facial expression hardly changes after he breaks the news. “He just…” Remus trails, now, knowing that his dad’s only hit him once and he hardly left a mark, so how bad could it be? What could he make up to dramatize these lies? It feels awful, and he finds himself wishing that he could take back the lie with a vicious intensity. “He just gets  _ upset _ , you know? Life’s hard. For him, especially.”

“It gives him no right to take it out on you,” Marlene mumbles, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tight. “I’m so sorry, Remus. He gave you… he did all of… that?”  _ That  _ references the scars on his arms, the ones on his neck and his face and the not-so-bad ones that everyone gets to see. Not like the ones on his chest and shoulders where the wolf will drag its claws through fur and thicker skin than the human variety- skin that doesn’t bleed and scar half as bad as Remus’s does. 

Remus doesn’t reply because he doesn’t have a proper answer and just shrugs, ducking his head to avoid her eyes, face flushed with the embarrassment of being a liar. First he’s told her that his mum’s deathly ill with cancer, and now she thinks his dad is horribly abusive. None of which is true. What a disaster. 

They’ve been talking during their free period and thankfully, eleven o’clock Potions arrives before the conversation can get any more uncomfortably in depth. Unfortunately, however, they take Potions class with the Slytherins and on the way out of class, Snape mutters something to Remus on his way out. 

He doesn’t hear it the first time, just makes a face at the Slytherin and continues on his way out. Remus and Severus’s relationship has been completely nonexistent during fourth year, and they haven’t had a proper, civil, conversation since the previous winter. Nearly a year ago. James, Sirius, and Severus hex each other in the halls at any given opportunity and while Remus usually doesn’t join in, he’s often present during these altercations and does a good deal of nothing to stop them. 

So he’s not necessarily the one to target or blame. Not really. He sits outside during lunch, sharing a fag in the courtyard with Benjy Fenwick. Katie Robinson joins them too, but just for company, as she doesn’t smoke. It’s early November and chilly, but not cold enough to drive them inside, and the three of them chat amicably in the crisp autumn air until Snape sweeps by them. None of them say hello, not even generally friendly Benjy, so they’re a bit surprised when he greets Remus.

“What’s up, Lupin?” Snape asks, sounding stiff- the words unfamiliar on his tongue. Remus blows a jet of smoke at him before waving the fumes away, feeling only a little rude. 

“What do you want?” He asks tiredly, aware of the tension in Benjy’s shoulders and the wary look in Katie’s eyes.

“Oh, not much. Just admiring that new scar you’ve got. Quite fascinating. How’d you get it, then? I thought the others might’ve been from the coathanger your mum used to get rid of you all those years ago, you know, homemade abortion, but this one’s new, so that can’t be right-” Remus lunges at Snape before he can finish his sentence and throws a well executed punch, bruising his eye and driving him to the ground. 

Benjy and Katie move behind him but he doesn’t care, doesn’t hear anything, just sees red and drives a kick into Snape’s side. The boy shouts in pain and Remus does it again and again and again, kicking him into the fetal position, ignoring as he shouts for him to stop, just kicks and kicks and kicks and thinks  _ there,  _ and thinks  _ this is what you get for thinking you can talk to me like this,  _ and thinks awful, angry things before there’s someone pulling him away, shouting at him to  _ stop it, Remus, stop! _

Benjy and James (when had James shown up?) are pulling him back and then Lily’s there, Mary’s there, a whole crowd of people are there and James pushes Remus away from Snape, standing in between him and the Slytherin curled on the ground. 

“Cool off, Remus, go on!” James shouts and Remus stands panting, oblivious to the crowd gathered around him. “Come on, let’s go!” James pushes Remus again and for a moment Remus thinks about hitting  _ him,  _ but drives that thought out of his mind with a deep breath and a string of curses. He storms away across the courtyard and out of it- headed down to the grounds, maybe to the lake, maybe anywhere that he doesn’t have to be reminded of his own self hatred for once in his god forsaken life. 

James walks at his side, blissfully silent. Remus walks to the edge of the lake and considers jumping in and drowning himself before he realizes that those are suicidal thoughts and he should banish them. Maybe, instead, he could scream. He could stand at the edge of the lake and scream himself hoarse. 

Because he thought lying to the marauders for a year and a half (not even a half!) was bad but lying to Marlene for three years straight and developing the lie into something he’ll have to apologize for once she learns the truth (and she  _ will  _ learn the truth, he convinces himself) is so, so frustrating and he’s full of such anger and hopelessness and resentment that the only plausible solution he can think of at the moment is skiving off Charms and cutting up his skin in the boy’s bathrooms. 

“Remus, what happened?” For a moment, he’s forgotten about James. His friend’s frustratingly composed voice drifts off into the silence. The Black Lake is a stretch of dark, calm water and Remus keeps his eyes on it, following the reflective surface up to the Scottish hills rolling off into the distance. “Remus.”

“I don’t want to explain it to you. You won’t understand.” He snaps at James. Talking to James is never really the same as talking to Sirius, and Remus often feels embarrassed and even more upset when he’s speaking to him. There’s no rhyme or reason behind why he finds James insufferable at times- maybe his inability to relate or the way he can remain calm and somewhat detached when all Remus needs is someone to understand and empathize, rather than sympathize.

“I understand that you had him down on the ground and were kicking the life out of him.”

“You would have done the same.” 

“He couldn’t even defend himself.”

“You’re trying to lecture me on morals? You, James Potter? Better not to, mate, because we both know you’re not in that position.” James looks both frustrated and exhausted. Remus doesn’t know why his friend colors himself so disappointed. 

“I don’t kick people when they’re down.”

“No, you just jinx them when their backs are turned. Fuck off, James, I don’t want to talk about it.” Remus feels a sting of self hatred for the way he’s treating James, but can’t be bothered to fix the problem he’s just created. 

“What’s  _ wrong,  _ Remus?” James pleads, as though there’s always a bloody issue, like there’s always something underlying that causes Remus to cut up his wrists or kick Severus Snape on the hard ground of the courtyard until he’s crying out for him to stop. 

“I’ve had a bad fucking day, okay? I’ve had a bad day, a bad week, a bad year! Now if you could just  _ go,  _ right, just go and leave me alone! I don’t want to talk to you about it!” James raises his hands in defeat and does just that- leaves. As soon as Remus sees his friend turn his back, he feels even worse. 

Remus turns back to face the lake and takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and then releases it for ten more seconds. He sits down at the shore of the lake and does this over and over again, breathing himself into a calmer state while he looks at the foggy grey surface of the lake. The Giant Squid shifts under the water and Remus sees one of its tentacles break the pristine surface, sending ripples across the water, before it disappears again. 

Remus sits for a while, knowing that Charms class has started and after what he’s done to Snape, McGonagall will probably request an audience with him when he returns to the castle. So he’s surprised when there’s a crunching of footsteps behind him. Remus sends up a little prayer that James hasn’t come back to make peace with him, and is in turn flooded with relief when Sirius’s voice calls-

“Moony! There you are!” Remus turns around to see Sirius kicking pebbles down the rocky beach with an easygoing smile on his face. “A little birdy told me that you got into a bit of a punch up with our least favorite Slytherin.” Remus rolls his eyes, sort of expecting some James-driven propaganda, but gets no such thing. As Sirius sits down next to him, he extends a hand for a high five and Remus breaks into a smile while he returns the gesture. 

“No Charms for you?” Remus asks while Sirius sits down next to him, stretching out his legs and sitting with his arms propped out behind him in a way that reminds Remus strikingly of Sion. 

“Nah, I was looking for you. Wanted to know what happened from the source itself.”

“People are talking?” 

“Aren’t they always?” Remus sighs low and Sirius tilts his head while giving him a curious once over. “He didn’t even get a hit in?”

“Not one,” Remus tells him, not proudly but in a self satisfied way that doesn’t beg to feel remorseful about his actions. Because, honest to god, he doesn’t feel too bad about what he’s done. 

“That’s my boy!” Sirius tells him proudly. “Evans had to drag him to the hospital wing, I saw the two of them in the hall. Bloody tosser couldn’t even walk by himself. What did he say to get you angry?”  
“Nothing worth repeating,” Remus mumbles. Only Katie and Benjy had heard the remark Snape had thrown at him, and he’s not sure if Benjy even understood what it meant since he’s a pureblood. 

“Ah, well.” Sirius continues, not pressing him for information. “I’m sure he deserved it all the while.”

**s**

Severus Snape is angry.

No, scratch that, he’s  _ furious.  _

And maybe he deserves this, at least a little bit, because he said some choice things to Remus but he hadn’t thought the generally mild-tempered boy would throw himself at him in that fit of manic anger. 

So yes- Snape had taunted him without expecting to be attacked so viciously and was mortified by curling into a ball on the ground while Lily Evans, of all people, knelt down next to him to ask if he was alright. She’s Lupin’s friend and it had been embarrassing enough for him to accept her help and lean on her while she took him to the hospital wing. 

After this incident, Severus decides to get his revenge. Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Lily herself had all assured him that Remus would be punished properly for his actions. But Severus wasn’t satisfied with knowing Remus would be serving an assortment of detentions. Severus wanted his own sort of revenge for getting his guts publicly kicked in. The fact that he might have deserved it is presently lost on Severus. Remus hadn’t disclosed his reasons for jumping Severus, and it seemed that neither Katie or Benjy had found anything to say either. 

He comes up with his idea for revenge in the library, where the best ideas bloom. Severus has seen Lupin sitting in the library quite often surrounded by a bunch of girls (usually Hufflepuffs), tutoring them obliviously while they do more staring at him than working on their own assignments, but who’s Severus to judge? All he knows is that he recognizes one of the girls at the start of fourth year (before the incident in the courtyard takes place). She’s a second year named Antonette Greengrass and when Severus executes his plan, it’s her who he goes to to put it into action.

He’d overheard Alan Smith complaining in Herbology about his own run in with Lupin which had resulted in a nasty hex to the face, all because of a bloody Boggart assignment, and Severus hadn’t thought much of it until now. The Boggart, being put into use by their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, resides in a small closet-like room in the East Wing of the castle, and this is what springs Severus into action.

On a Tuesday evening, he finds Antonette in the common room and gets right down to business with her. 

“Hello- Antonette, right? I’m Severus.” She’d been working on homework and looked up at him rather disdainfully- a very strong expression for just a second year. “I need your help.” After explaining his plan to her, she’d sat back and frowned at him. 

“What do I get out of it?”

“What?”

“Will you pay me?” Severus had never done too well on the monetary front, and pondered forms of payment.

“I’ll write your potions essays for a month?”

“Make it two, and you’ve got a deal.” Typical Slytherin bargaining tactics. Still, Severus had gotten the decoy he needed and later that week, he hides himself behind a suit of armor on the second floor of the East Wing and watches blasted Remus Lupin walk down the hallway. 

Severus had asked Antonette to play the role of a frightened younger student who had run across something scary (which is never out of the question at Hogwarts) and was asking him to check it out. Severus watches eagerly as the Gryffindor walks up to the door of the room, opens it, and steps inside. In a flash, Severus sprints across the hallway and slams the door on Lupin, who gives a confused shout.

“Oi! What-? Who’s there?  _ Lumos _ .” Severus quietly casts a lock on the door and is generally unsurprised when Remus casts the unlocking charm.

“Alohomora.” Lupin says it clearly, in an unwavering voice. Severus whispers “Colloportus” and the door handle jiggles but doesn’t open. Lupin casts the spell again and Severus locks the door again, keeping his voice low so as to give Lupin no clues as to who’s trapped him in the tiny room.

Lupin’s voice gets more frantic as he casts the unlocking charm over and over until it’s become apparent that he’s been detained. “Oh, no.” He says in a small voice. Then- louder, “Oh, no, no no. Oh my god, no.” Severus’s only misgiving about this prank is that he won’t be able to see Lupin’s Boggart, but hearing his reaction is enough to know that he’s scared. More than that: he sounds absolutely desperately terrified. 

There’s a sound against the door, and Severus realizes that Lupin is knocking at it as though to attract attention. And he keeps talking- his voice becoming more and more unsteady as he talks to himself. It’s a constant affirmation of “No, no, no, this cannot be real, this  _ isn’t  _ real, this isn’t real, this can’t be real,” but his voice grows shakier and breaks on the last word.

Severus stands with his back against the door, unaware that Lupin is standing in the exact same position. The only thing keeping them from standing back to back is the thick wooden door between them. Lupin continues muttering madly to himself in a useless attempt at convincing himself that whatever his greatest fear is does not exist. 

Still, the sight of his worst fears alone are causing him trouble and Severus feels him try the doorknob again- obviously as another last resort effort. 

“There’s a spell… the bloody fucking spell, jesus christ, what is it? It’s… it’s one word, come on Remus, it’s just a word… argh, christ,  _ fuck _ !” 

Severus can feel Lupin jump back against the door and thinks of calling through the wood- “The spell isn’t ‘fuck’ or ‘bloody hell’, if that’s what you’re getting at” but Lupin lets out a little moan of fear and Severus gets the idea that the Boggart has changed shapes. Merlin, this is turning out to be better than expected. 

Then… “It’s ridiculous, it’s bloody fucking  _ ridikkulus! _ ” There’s a pause, and then Lupin lets out a burst of nervous, forced laughter. He sighs heavily in relief and tries the doorknob again. Severus locks it without a second thought. Then Lupin’s weight leaves the door. The doorknob stays still. Severus books it down the hall but it’s not long before the door opens behind him and he turns in the hallway, about five meters away from him. 

Lupin’s scarred, blotched face is pale and his eyes are wide when he sees Severus standing down the hallway. They’re in a dueling position, standing at a distance from each other, and Severus tilts his chin up before raising his wand and casting- “ _ Petrificus totalus!”  _ before Lupin can move. The boy falls to the ground in a solid, frozen motion. Severus turns down the hallway and leaves him there, hoping he feels the same helpless embarrassment that he had when curled up on the ground in the courtyard. 

Severus has gotten his revenge. And it had tasted ever so sweet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really having my way with remus in this fic and the anger he's experiencing is a very real & hard to deal with [symptom of depression.](https://www.healthline.com/health/depression/anger-and-irritation#4) mental health finds so many inconvenient ways to manifest itself


	49. [YR 4] Last Chance to Lose Your Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for self harm

_ i’m better off home on a saturday night, with all my doors locked up tight  _

_ i won’t be thinking about you, baby  _

**s**

Sirius Black hadn’t been surprised to receive an invitation to Professor Slughorn’s private Christmas party. He had, however, been somewhat embarrassed when the card was delivered to him during lunch (he still sleeps through breakfast and owls instead seek him out during other meals) and not shared the news with his friends. Well, not with the marauders, at least. None of them had been invited. 

Lily Evans, however, had received her own invitation. Sirius overhears her joking about it in Transfiguration and walks by her table afterwards to ask her about it.

“Evans, you got an invitation too? Why just you and I? How’s he choosing?” Evans looks up at him with surprised green eyes. 

“Well, his best students, you know…” She looks a bit bashful but continues regardless, “like me.” Sirius stares at her nonplussed. “Not you.”

“Cheers, Evans, I think we’ve established that.”

“But he’s also inviting students with connections, you know! And you’re the heir of your family, so… that would make sense.”

“Right.” Sirius briefly wonders if Regulus had received an invitation as well. “Are you going?” Evans shrugs while neatly packing away her textbook. James would lose his mind in a fit of appreciation at her levels of organization. 

“Don’t see why not. Potions is my best subject, so it’ll be smart to stay on his good side. Are you?” Sirius shifts, not knowing it would be weird to invite Lily Evans to attend the party with him because merlin, how awkward would that be? But he’s not keen on showing up alone. 

“Ah, I dunno. I’ll think it over.”

“Alright,” Evans tells him coolly, obviously not too interested in his plans. Sirius leaves without saying much else to her, lost in thought about the party. He only confesses his thoughts about it to Remus when they’re spending another night up at the Astronomy tower, sharing fags and gossip. 

Well, Sirius hadn’t done so much smoking. Or gossipping. After the full moon in late November, he had diligently placed a mandrake leaf in his mouth. He’d swallowed it, spat it out while brushing his teeth, and chewed it up over the space of the day and had put another one in at night, reserving that he wouldn’t muck it up again. 

He’s spent two weeks learning that the mandrake leaf tastes worse than usual when coupled with cigarette smoke, that enjoying most types of food and drink will have to wait until 1975, and that running his mouth has proven to be infinitely more difficult. 

Remus had finished serving yet another detention for the Snape beatdown incident and had returned to the dorms late at night to find Sirius still up, writing his Divination essay about the personal meanings that the Major Arcana signify to him. 

To be honest, Sirius enjoys Divination more than he’d care to admit. He’s always been interested in astrology and assorted wizarding omens, and now that they’ve moved on to tarot cards, he’s absolutely fascinated. It’s not difficult for him to write paragraph after paragraph about his relation to certain tarot cards, and he’s half regretful to leave his work behind when Remus asks him to go sit up on the tower. 

It was colder than Sirius had expected and there was a thin layer of snow on the stone floor. Neither of them suggested returning to the common room. It had probably because Remus wanted to smoke in peace without filling the common room with unwanted cigarette smoke, but Sirius had still ended up shivering. Remus had looked over at his shaking form and asked, ever so casually-

“D’you want my jumper?”

“Do you mind?” Remus shook his head without hesitation and pulled off his jumper while Sirius watched with eyes the size of dinner plates, taking in the way his hair was ruffled by the jumper, the way he looked so fit when he actually sat up straight, and the endearing way he slouched back into his usual position with a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he handed the soft jumper over to a pathetically lovestruck Sirius. 

“Thanks,” Sirius had told him. Remus’s jumper had been very soft and smelled like something Sirius had started to associate with home- cinnamon, cigarette smoke, chocolate, evergreen trees. It had taken a while for Sirius to get the weight that the party was holding off of his chest, but once the information was divulged, Remus seemed more interested than he could have expected. 

“Sirius, you’ve got to go. Go with Lily, or by yourself, but you’ve got to. If he hosts Slug Club meetings regularly, the pranks you could pull could be  _ legendary _ .” And so, after hearing a few impassioned sentences from Remus, Sirius had decided that he would go to the party after all. 

He accosts Evans during Potions the next morning. She usually sits with Marlene but he takes the other girl’s seat, forcing her to swap seats with him and sit next to James. Evans frowns at him expectantly. 

“Can I help you with something?”

“Will you go to Slughorn’s party with me?” He tries to keep his voice down because it’d be a bit awkward for the host of the whole affair to hear them chattering classlessly about it during a lesson. “As friends,” he continues when she narrows her eyebrows, “you know, to enjoy each other's company! And have fun! As friends! At the Christmas party!”

“Why?” Evans is setting up her cauldron and organizing the ingredients for a potion that Slughorn had told them to make while Sirius hadn’t been listening. She’s so  _ aloof  _ that he’s frustrated, because  _ he  _ wants to be that casual and yet here he is, begging her to go to a party with him because he doesn’t want to show up by himself. 

“Because I don’t want to go alone and be pathetic.” He confesses. She takes a good look at him, still frowning. He watches as Evans glances back towards where James and Marlene seem to be working in harmony- Marlene grinding something with a mortar and pestle while James is chopping up a root. Sirius debates getting to work. 

“Is this some sort of joke?” Evans asks, putting a bicorn horn in front of Sirius. “Grind that up finely.” She instructs, moving on to chop up a Mandrake root.

“No, I’m… serious!” Evans snorts in amusement. “Really, I’m not taking the mickey. Could be fun? I take it Ibex didn’t get the invite?” Evans shrugs, turning her face away, but Sirius still catches her blush. 

“No…”

“Well, I can be your platonic date. Okay?”

“Yeah, alright.” Evans mumbles. “But you can’t embarrass me, okay? No poisoning the food or hexing anyone.”

“Me? Hex anyone?” Sirius jokes, crushing up the bicorn claw. “No, I’ll be on my best behavior. Now, what are we making?” Sirius and Lily get full marks on their Pepperup Potion due to Lily’s talent in the subject, and Sirius leaves the lesson in high spirits. 

The party isn’t exactly a Christmas party, since it takes place during the second week of December, but the castle is lively with Christmas cheer and Sirius, for once, pretends to take joy in the season. He isn’t sure whether or not he’s permitted back at home for the holiday, and on the Saturday when Slughorn’s party is set to take place, he spots Regulus in the halls.

“Reg!” Sirius calls, noting the clear way his brother walked past him as though he was set on ignoring him. “Hey!” Sirius has a fistful of his brother’s robes and Regulus brushes him off impatiently, all fussy and bothered. 

“What?” Sirius is glad that both of them had been walking alone, or else this conversation would have been made infinitely more uncomfortable just by association. 

“Am I supposed to come home for the holidays?” Sirius asks. He hasn’t heard from either of his parents since the fateful day in July when he was kicked out of the house. Regulus frowns, his greyish blue eyes stormy, and he takes a step back from Sirius, still shaking out his robes as though Sirius was a nasty, slimy thing that had dirtied his clothes. 

“They haven’t told me anything. I don’t think there’s any way around a punishment.” Regulus looks at the ground as he says this and scuffs his glossy shoe along the stone. Sirius feels a sinking feeling in his chest most always associated with discussion of his family.

“How d’you mean?”

“If you come home for Christmas or if you come home next summer, you’ll still be in trouble either way. It'll just be worse in the summer. Mum hasn’t written you?”

“Haven’t heard from her since July.” 

“Not even for your birthday?” Regulus sounds presently shocked and Sirius shrugs nonchalantly. “Dad didn’t write?”

“No one from the Black household, Reg. Andromeda sent me a letter, though.” Regulus still looks worried. 

“Are you going to go home, then? You can’t stay at school. They’ll summon you right back.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius tells him. “I dunno if I’ll go. Maybe I can stay with James again.” 

“Okay.” Regulus looks back up at him, and then away again. 

“You’ll be okay, right? At home?” Regulus looks back up, oddly jumpy and nervous. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The pair of them look at each other for a moment before Regulus breaks eye contact. “Might miss you a bit.”

“You’ll have the extended family. Wouldn’t miss them for the world, right? Well, I might come back either way. I suppose I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to Slughorn’s party?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Sirius comes to his own decision that Slughorn might have invited students above a certain age or year. “See you later!”

“Bye…” Sirius also decides that he doesn’t have time today to worry about whether or not he should make an appearance at home just to please his mother. He has to get ready for the party. James is off with Katie and Peter is off with Moira (though Sirius doubts that’ll last too long) so Sirius is surprised to find Remus lounging around in the dorms, apparently in a self pitying state. 

“Where’s Marlene?”

“Off with Dorcas because she knows I’m a lying scoundrel.”

“Oh Moony, don’t be so sad. You’ll be okay. There’s always Mary! And Emmeline!”

“True…” Remus is smoking in the windowsill, like usual, while Sirius puts on his dark green dress robes and combs his hair. It’s only when he looks at Remus’s reflection in the mirror that he sees the boy smirking at him. “You should see yourself, preening like that.” 

“Sod off, you know I look good.”

“You look fine.”

“Just ‘fine’? Not smashing? Delicious?  _ Sexy _ ?” Remus just laughs and Sirius knows that he shouldn’t feel a twinge of disappointment in his stomach at Remus’s obvious lack of interest in him. He’s  _ straight  _ for Merlin’s sakes, and he’s got a girlfriend to show for it. 

“Fine, Sirius, you look  _ deliciously  _ sexy.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Sirius turns back to the mirror and smiles at himself. “Well, I’d better be going if I want to keep Evans happy. I suppose you’ll be here all night?”

“Me and my fags and my Velvet Underground.”

“Sounds like a nice night.” Remus shrugs.

“Have fun with Slughorn.”

“And Evans,” Sirius reminds him. Remus scoffs. Evans has been very cold to him since the Snape Beatdown Incident and Sirius feels a little bad for him. She’s a good person to have as a friend. 

“And Evans.” Sirius tells him goodbye and heads downstairs to find Evans waiting in the common room. She looks quite pretty- red hair all blown out with some light makeup on. Her brownish orange dress looks like corduroy material and has buttons all down the front. It’s sleeveless, but she wears a red long sleeved turtleneck top underneath, and matching red stockings. Her brown boots match the dress. 

“Hi, Evans, you look lovely!” She looks up as Sirius bounds down the stairs and smiles, her freckled face warm in the heated tones of the Gryffindor common room. 

“I forgot you don’t own any nice muggle clothes.” 

“Here’s me in my nice wizarding ones!” Evans just shakes her head and starts out of the portrait hole with Sirius right behind her, now a little bit excited about the party taking place. As it turns out, parties hosted by aging Potions masters aren’t the most stimulating. 

Slughorn seats them all at a round table and Sirius looks around at the twelve or so other students there. Snivellus, god only knows why, is glowering at Sirius from across the table and Sirius is in a fair enough mood to drop him a wink. Slughorn sets out a charcuterie and cheese board that makes Sirius feel sickeningly like he’s back at home, and engages every student he’s invited. 

Of the people Sirius had known previously: Matty Boot, seeker for Hufflepuff is there because his dad plays for the Appleby Arrows, Edgar Bones is there because both of his parents are legendarily talented aurors, Sorrel Avery is there because his family is in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

The Prewett twins have also made an appearance, most likely due to their family also being part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but Slughorn doesn’t spend too much time talking to Gideon or his best mate, Edgar. Fabian’s a little more presentable than his brother, who’s busy getting sloshed on Slughorn’s best mead and remains in quiet conversation with Edgar and occasionally with a blushing Ravenclaw girl whose mother is a famous author. 

Sirius chats with Evans (although she’d told him to call her Lily before they entered Slughorn’s office). He can’t discuss pranks and Animagus planning with her, and she can’t discuss her girly drama with him (he assumes) so they get around to talking about their families, Christmas traditions, and holidays. He learns that she has a twin sister, although they look nothing alike, and when she mentions the Queen’s Speech, he begs her to explain the Royal Family. 

She’s on about Princess Anne’s wedding when Roselyn Shull, a sixth year Hufflepuff, politely interrupts to tell them how smashing Captain Mark Philipps looked and how their entire family had a party at home to celebrate the wedding. Sirius entertains Muggle-centric conversation with both of them, faring quite well for himself, and after his own fair share of mead, he finds that he’s having a rather nice time. 

Slughorn serves them all ice cream, which Sirius is grateful for since it can melt in his throat without him having to chew (excessive chewing is a bad, bad plan with a mandrake leaf in your mouth and James had been forced to give up his chewing gum habit for the month) but it marks the end of the party. Sirius and Lily take a long walk back to the Gryffindor tower.

“This was fun, you know.” Lily tells him once they’re back in the common room. “You behaved after all.”

“Ah, your expectations for me are much too low, Evans.”

“Lily.” She tells him in an oddly kind way.

“Right. Well, I’d better be off. Goodnight, Lily!”

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

**r**

Remus had spent the night in a rather disconsolate state. He’d written Sion a letter, eaten two bars of chocolate and then felt guilty about it, listened to “Loaded” by The Velvet Underground front to back two times over while thinking about Marlene, smoked a fag, tried to read his book, and then gave in to the awful temptation that had been hanging over him all night. 

He hadn’t even felt  _ bad,  _ just frustrated and sort of heartsick because Marlene’s been very cold to him recently and he misses Sion and basic affection. These uncomfortable, misguided feelings had washed away in a dripping river of blood down his arms while he cut deep gashes into his shoulder and upper arms. That had made him feel better, and he’d turned off the record because “I’m Sticking With You” had him thinking too much of Marlene and he’d put on his dad’s treasured Funkadelic album and had another fag while the wailing, insane electric guitar carried him away into another dimension. 

Both James and Peter had been out late and Remus had been easily relieved when Sirius had been the first person back in the dorms, smiling easily and taking off the velvety green dress robes he’s been wearing all night. Underneath, he’s got on a black shirt and black trousers- looking very dark and handsome. 

“How was the party?” Remus asks casually from his position in the windowsill.

“Oh, you know. Boring as ever.” Sirius tells him dismissively. Remus is grateful that even if he had enjoyed himself, he doesn’t go on about it in a way that would make him jealous. Sirius tosses his robes onto the floor in a way that would make James suffer a heart attack. Even Remus would think twice about throwing his clothes on the floor if they were that expensive. 

“Fancy a trip up north?” 

“What, the Astronomy tower? It’s bloody freezing!” 

“You’ve got a coat! Come on, I’ve been all alone and I’m bored.”

“‘Course you are,” Sirius mutters, but he pulls his thick coat on anyways and takes James’s invisibility cloak with him for good measure. They pass both James and Peter on their way down and rush out an excuse on what they’re doing, not eager to talk to them, and leave their friends scratching their heads in confusion as they stumble out of the portrait hole and onto their now-familiar path up to the Astronomy tower. 

Remus had put together a comprehensive list of when Astronomy classes take place and so they always end up in the tower before (or usually after) classes occur. It’s become a very familiar and welcome tradition- the nighttime visits up to the tower, and Remus is halfway grateful that they haven’t brought any liquor with them tonight. Sometimes Sirius gets stupid when he’s drunk and their conversations turn much less genuine when all he wants is to giggle about things that Remus doesn’t find half as funny.

Tonight, it’s clear that Sirius has something on his mind and he’s quick to talk after a few back and forth exchanges with Remus. For the past three years, Remus had remained generally in the dark about the inner workings of Sirius’s life, but he’s opened up more this year and seems more partial to wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

Remus had asked if he was going home for the holidays, and Sirius had gotten shifty eyed and nervous.

“Erm, that’s the issue. I’ve got to decide if I want to.”

“Oh?”

“Well, actually… I never told you, but I got kicked out over the summer.” Remus frowns. He’d known that Sirius had stayed with James for the better part of the summer, but had thought it was of his own accord, really. “My mum made me leave. And I suppose it’s good, right? I’ve wanted to for a while.” Remus doesn’t tell Sirius his private thoughts- that being fifteen and homeless isn’t the best combination one could ask for, but keeps his mouth shut. At least Remus has a place to call home. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, but my parents haven’t written me since, well, they haven’t written me all year.” Sirius looks up at Remus, who’s trying to keep his face expressionless. Neither of them get too worked up during conversations, and he knows that’s why they tell each other these things. Still, Remus doesn’t chance telling Sirius about his continuous problems with self harm. It seems a conversation far too embarrassing and unnecessary for him to undertake. 

“So I don’t know if I should go home for the hols, because I know I’ll get in trouble if I go home.”

“Punished, like?”

“Yeah.” Sirius’s voice comes out a little high pitched. “Or I could put it off until the summer, and it’d be worse, but oh well. And if I stay at school, I know they’ll call me back home. They don’t want others knowing that they don’t want me there. It’d look pathetic, and they can’t have the Black family portrayed as pathetic. I’m just… I’m scared, a bit, you know? I don’t know what’s going to happen. And of course I don’t  _ want  _ to go home! But I’ve got to!”

“Sirius.”

“The issue is, and you know, James is going to India because of his cousin’s wedding, or whatever, but who wants to get married in the bloody winter? Or maybe it’s not so cold down there. Whatever, I don’t know the climate of India. So I can’t stay with him, and I’d rather die than impose on the Pettigrews. Anyways, it’s just a bloody stupid decision to make and I’m just- argh.”

“Sirius.”

“And Regulus is absolutely useless with advice, and Andromeda told me I should just go and face them to get them somewhat back on my good side, but-”

“Sirius!” 

“What?”

“Come stay with my family.” Remus says it without much thought and instantly wonders if he’ll regret the invitation. But hearing Sirius talk about his family with a voice of genuine and upset fear is enough for him to ensure that his friend won’t have to go home and face his punishment, whatever that means to the Blacks. 

“What?” Sirius asks, in a less clueless tone and in a more  _ are you serious?  _ way.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s no trouble.” It will be, in fact, lots of trouble for Remus’s long suffering parents, but he’s already put the invitation out into the world so there’s no moral way to take it back. “You’ve just got to be… behaved.”

“That’s the second time tonight someone’s insinuated that I’m badly behaved.” 

“We say it for a reason, butt! Anyways, it’s just… my mum’s a bit off lately, so you’ve really just got to be quiet and all.” Sirius looks at him curiously and Remus feels hot under his gaze, not wanting to venture down this path of conversation.

“Is she genuinely ill?” He jokes, and Remus shrugs, showing that he doesn’t find it funny. 

“She’s gone a bit mad.” Sirius quiets. 

“What do you mean?” Remus doesn’t want to refer to his own mum as an alcoholic (neither him nor Lyall have ever brought up the term) but he knows that’s the issue, even if she tries to hide it when he’s home. It’s the same way he can’t get enough of the feeling of a blade slicing up his skin. She loves the burning of alcohol going down, and the way it makes everything a little more bearable. 

“She’s got an issue with drinking.”

“Your mum’s a  _ drunk _ ?”

“Don’t.” Remus snaps defensively. “Don’t even start.”

“Sorry.” Sirius says quickly, genuinely looking it. “Sorry, Remus, really, I’m grateful and I won’t do anything bad, I’ll be  _ so  _ well behaved and your parents will be begging for me to come back.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure they will,” Remus jokes casually.

“Thanks, Moony, honestly.”

“Of course, Sirius. I don’t want you going back to that house.” 


	50. [YR 4] Empty Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of character analysis in this one! i love getting deep into developing these fuckers 
> 
> i didn’t know i would lean into the dorlene vibes so hard, but honestly no one writes about the development of female sexuality the way they do w/ boys, so yes, i’m gonna be upping the wlw representation. enjoy >:)

_ all that i know is your space is empty _

_ it’s buried below the stress and the envy  _

**d**

When Marlene and Remus have what Dorcas can only assume to be a fight (although Marlene doesn’t describe it that way), Dorcas ends up sort of glad because it gives her plenty of time to spend with her friend. It’s not like they didn’t hang out before, but Marlene had been busy with Quidditch and her lying, stand-up loser of a boyfriend.

But Quidditch season’s on pause for the winter, and Marlene and Remus are on pause because Marlene’s angry with him, so Dorcas gets to entertain the girl who’s quickly becoming her best friend. 

It only seems fair that Dorcas takes her to the last dueling club before holidays, because what is a girl good for if not jinxing her friends to hell and back just for the fun of it.?

“You go to dueling club?” Marlene asks, clearly surprised, when Dorcas brings it up to her. 

“Uh, yeah! I wouldn’t be a real badass if I didn’t go, right?” They’re in the library during their Friday morning free period, textbooks and notes open in front of them but not much studying is taking place. Marlene frowns, though, her blue eyes thoughtful.

“This is about your mum, isn’t it?”

“Come on Marlene, don’t pull a Lily on me. No need to psychoanalyze.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing!” Marlene protests, giggling faintly. “I just- you know. It was scary.” She turns serious. “I know you were worried.” Dorcas had been worried. She’d been very worried after the attacks last year. So worried, in fact, that she’d gone to Professor Sprout and asked if there was any way for her to visit home, just over the weekend, to visit her mother in the hospital and see if her family was alright. 

Of course, the ever so kind professor had agreed, and she’d been permitted to use the floo network in Hogsmeade on Friday afternoon. Dorcas had found her family disconsolate and upset, grateful to have her there but confused as to how she’d gotten to leave school. And the eerily fast travel too, of course. Her mum, strong as ever, had assured her that she was going to be fine but Dorcas had still been shaken by the sight of her lying in that hospital bed. 

Cassandra Meadowes had been born into a wizarding family and then shunned due to her astounding lack of magical abilities. A squib- they called her. But Dorcas had been born buzzing with magic- levitating her toys, turning her hair different colors, breaking things without touching them when she became angry. Her mother and father had been so pleased and excited for her, and Dorcas had grown up equally proud of her parents because they were kind and good and hardworking and they loved her, above all else.

Mother and father.

Squib mother and muggle father, that’s what they’re referred to as at Hogwarts and Dorcas holds a ball of cold shame in her chest when thinking about them, sometimes, just because everyone else has conditioned her to be ashamed of her blood. And why should she be? Why should she be ashamed of the people who raised her to be smart, and kind, and selfless? 

When the attacks had taken place during third year and the whole school had been discussing the events, the only person Dorcas found comfort in had been Lily, a muggleborn herself who shared those same misguided emotions. Dorcas hadn’t talked to Marlene about it, or Emmeline, or anyone else. Just Lily. Not even Mary, also muggleborn, could provide any help, because she’s got this unashamed pride that Dorcas has always admired.

She’s heard Mary’s mantra before: “I’ve been born to muggles and special enough to be magical, didn’t even have to have it passed down, so technically,  _ I’m  _ the better one in all these equations. They’re expecting me to feel bad about myself just because my parents aren’t magic? They’re my parents! My family! I could ditch this world any day, and it’s primitive as all hell.” She’d pointed across the table at Sirius and said- “Black, hey, could you explain to me how a lamp works?”

“What?” Sirius had said with a frown. “Lightbulbs, innit?” 

“He doesn’t know anything about anything!” Mary had continued, point proven as Sirius had quietly asked Remus about the inner workings of electricity-  _ you have it wired through your house??  _ “Purebloods are stupid in the muggle world, and muggles are stupid in the wizarding world. I’m just an especially smart one. Best of both worlds.” She’s grinned widely and Dorcas had tried to smile back, but Lily had been frowning all the same and both of them had felt exasperated. 

Then, at long last, James Potter had come along with his midnight Quidditch matches as an ample distraction from the worry and Dorcas had let that diversion fill her up. Her mum was recovering, her family was safe, and she had to focus on the positive rather than the negative.

So she played Quidditch late at night and put the past behind her, but it had all come full circle at the beginning of fourth year when she was ambushed by the Slytherins and then, she had only confessed what had happened to Lupin. He’s a better listener than Lily but not so good at comfort, always turns to humor instead, and he’d suggested another distraction for her, one a little more productive than Potter’s. 

Dueling. 

“I was worried. But I’m not worried about me,” Dorcas lies, “It’s just good to know self defense, you know?”

“Sure.” 

“So let’s go!” They spend the evening down in the dungeons with a group of mostly sixth and seventh years, practicing offensive spells while Flitwick looks on. Marlene’s out of practice with dueling and Dorcas feels bad for sending her flying backwards across the room with the strength of her banishing spells. Still, Marlene always rises from the pillows she’s landed in with laughter on her breath, vibrant and resolute, to try her hand once more. 

Though she wouldn’t admit it to Marlene, the dueling does make Dorcas feel safer. And Marlene would ask  _ safer from what? _ in that innocent, pureblooded way that her, Potter, Black, and Pettigrew share. 

It’s a naivety that Dorcas hasn’t felt in a long time. She’s essentially muggleborn, maybe considered something worse because her mum’s a squib. There’s never been a label for her- no half blood, pureblood, or muggleborn. She’s a messy in-between, in every sense of the term. 

In terms of bloodline she’s confused and caught in between, and in terms of sexuality she feels the same thing. Everything she’s judged as. Because when dueling club ends for the evening and Dorcas holds Marlene’s hand on their way down the hall- in nothing but a necessarily platonic way- Marlene smiles at her in a tender way and Dorcas knows that wordlessly, they share something that doesn’t need talking about, that’s sort of impulsive and something like love and though it’s confusing sometimes and hurts during the worst times, Dorcas will just squeeze her hand tighter and take what she can get. 

Her morals get confused as well, what with the now constant arguments between Remus and Marlene. Dorcas knows that Remus himself isn’t the go-to example for a straight boy and though she empathizes with his struggle, she’s privately upset that he cheated on Marlene over the summer and apparently thought nothing of it, then stood her up at a dance and felt the same apathy. (Well, his mum’s ill. But Dorcas has always thought her illness seems to take the most convenient forms.) 

And she herself, god rest her weary soul, is harboring a useless crush on her best friend and is silently supporting whatever impending breakup may be looming on the horizon. Remus and Marlene separately are wonderful people, but when you bring them together, it seems like it’s all fighting and dramatics. Marlene turns into a different person around him- cautious, edgy, worried like anything she might say will get him to snap and bite back at her, warring and angry while Marlene is obligated to feel bad about things that aren’t even her fault. 

Dorcas and Marlene have never fought. Dorcas listens to what Marlene has to say and doesn’t snap at her for it, well, that’s mostly because she never finds anything to snap about. They’re friends, they get along, there’s nothing wrong except Dorcas can’t stop thinking of Marlene as more than a friend. 

Not when they stop by the kitchens to beg for Christmas pudding from the house elves and take their plates into the Hufflepuff common room with them; Dorcas arguing good naturedly with a sixth year prefect about her right to eat in the dorms (I’ve got low blood sugar!) Definitely not when they sit down in a squashy low loveseat in the corner and proceed into a deep discussion about what Christmas presents they’ve gotten for their friends. 

Marlene’s light blonde hair blends in perfectly to the Hufflepuff common room- the yellows and blacks making her look striking in the warm light. Dorcas has always thought her friend should’ve been in Ravenclaw if only because of how good in blue she looks, but there’s a nostalgic warmth to the crimson of Gryffindor that she wears proudly. Sometimes Dorcas hates that their houses keep them apart. Sometimes she wonders why she’s made her closest friends in Gryffindor- with their sharp tongues, bright senses of humor, and the know how to have a fair bit of fun.

Maybe she’s been put in Hufflepuff only to invite Marlene McKinnon into the common room to eat pudding with her to watch how her friend looks in the light. Or how the earthy tones around her make her face soft and loveable within the contrast. Dorcas thinks she could love Marlene for the rest of her life easy, because it takes so little effort. 

Sometimes she thinks that life’s not fair in the way Marlene ends up dating a queer boy with too many issues to selflessly focus on her. Very rarely, Dorcas thinks that she’d do anything for Marlene and it’s  _ not _ fair that they’re both girls because the title of best friends will have to do because coming out and dating isn’t something girls do, not in 1974 and definitely not in the wizarding world. Dorcas will just have to settle for best friends in love and make the very best of it.

That’s the issue, though, isn’t it? Dorcas Meadowes just doesn’t settle for less. 

**r**

Remus’s apathetic, angry depression has properly taken over again by their last week of school before the holidays, and he counts himself ready to throw in the metaphorical towel to his match of life by end of the day Transfiguration lessons. 

“Mr. Lupin, if I could see you in my office after class?” McGonagall asks him briefly as she sweeps by. Remus nods, but she hadn’t waited for a reaction and he understands that a question to her is more of a command to him. He spends the class nervous for whatever she has to say to him, and only manages a salamander instead of a snake as they’re spending the class learning the snake conjuring spell, which he’d gotten the hang of in his very first year- a requirement for the marauders’ first big prank. 

After class is over, Sirius whispers good luck to him as he follows everyone out the door. 

“Close the door, if you please, Mr. Lupin?” Remus once again obeys wordlessly, and once closing the door approaches her desk rather nervously. “Take a seat. You’re not in trouble, Lupin, although I hope you haven’t done anything  _ else _ deserving of punishment.”

“No, professor,” Remus mumbles as he sits down across from her. Truthfully, he’s kept his nose generally clean since November. James and Sirius have been acting awfully strange for the past few weeks, and Remus just assumes they’re working on a prank of some sort. Remus and Peter have been cataloging all of the secret passageways they can find on their map (hastily dubbed the Marauder’s Map) and have found only four so far, but the most recent one had been quite an exciting triumph. 

Remus doesn’t share any of this with McGonagall, who is staring down the length of her nose at him and making him feel rather nervous.

“Lupin, I was recently engaged in conversation with a fellow student who found themself worried about your home life.” Remus’s eyes widen. “Now, I can assume that some questions attributed to your condition may lead you to make excuses to your friends, but I cannot simply ignore claims that my students are being abused at home.”

“I was lying,” Remus croaks in a voice raspy from disuse. “It was Marlene, I know, I told her my dad gave me  _ this _ ,” he gestures at the fresh scar through his eyebrow, “and she got worried, but it’s fine, he’s fine, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” McGonagall frowns at him. 

“Miss McKinnon was not the one who expressed their concern.” Remus stares at her. 

“Who was it?”

“That is not the issue at hand, Mr. Lupin. I take it that I have nothing to worry about when sending you home for the holidays?”

“No, professor. Just the moon.” It had been his attempt at a lighthearted joke, but McGonagall’s serious expression doesn’t even crack. “No one’s abusing me, professor. People see the scars, they get worried.” Her sharp green eyes flicker up and down his face. 

“Very well, Lupin.”

“If that’s all…” Remus makes to get up, since he’s got some choice words to share with Marlene, but McGonagall stops him. 

“That’s not all, Remus. Though I would have liked to, I regret that I haven’t been able to speak with you personally this school year. After what happened in February, I wanted to check if you were alright.” 

The thing is, Remus wouldn’t have told her if he were feeling suicidal again (which he isn’t, not really) and he doesn’t feel the need to confess any of his deep dark emotions either way. He’d only confessed his depressed suicidality to her the previous year because Frank had been standing there and honestly, there had been no choice. 

“I am, professor. I’m doing fine.” 

“Because I know you wouldn't have attacked Severus unprovoked.” 

“He had a go at me about my scars and said something he shouldn’t’ve about my mum. It’s fine, now. Everything’s fine.” McGonagall continues regarding him with that thoughtful, unruffled expression. 

“You seem emotionally exhausted.” Remus tries hard not to roll his eyes. “You don’t seem like yourself. First the attack on Mr. Smith and then on Mr. Snape, you’re easily irritated. Your marks have fallen and you seem to have difficulty concentrating during lessons. If there’s something going on, I would appreciate you telling me.”

“Professor McGonagall, I’m a werewolf. That’s what’s going on. There’s nothing to be done. Wish you could help, but don’t we all?”

“Remus.” 

“I’m alright, professor, honest. Just frustrated by things I can’t change. It’s nothing new.” McGonagall sighs in a way adjacent to giving up. 

“Remus, if you ever need to talk-”

“I’ve got you, I know.” He grabs his bag and does get up this time, moving back towards the door, and is once again stopped by the sharp Scottish voice of Minerva McGonagall.

“Remus Lupin, you came to me last year after attempting suicide. Do not make me feel as though I am shortsighted for inquiring after your wellbeing. I have every right to be worried about you, and I am disappointed, to say the least, that you seem to find this funny. If you want to joke about it to your friends, that isn’t my concern, but I am your professor, and your Head of House, and I’m worried about you.” Remus looks at her anxiously, all traces of humor gone. He hadn’t realized how hurtful his actions were.

“I’m sorry, professor…” He trails, thinking about what he could say to her.  _ Professor McGonagall, I can’t stop cutting myself and I don’t even know why I do it anymore, it just makes me feel better and I thought I was done but I’m back it again and it’s worse than ever but I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to get any better. _ She looks at him and he looks back, feeling like he’s been forced into a spotlight and has nothing to say to appease the crowd. 

“I’m not… suicidal. I’m not…” He’s about to say “hurting myself” but can’t bring himself to lie. “I’m not so bad anymore. I  _ am _ okay. Things are just frustrating. The-  _ my _ -condition, it’s just difficult. To lie to my friends. It complicates everything.” McGonagall nods curtly. “And I’ll come to you, I promise I will, when…” He now realizes that there’s pity in her eyes. It makes him feel awful. “...when I’m ready.” Remus finishes.

She nods again, but remains silent. Still watching him. 

“I hope you find yourself ready before another incident takes place.” Remus considers this statement.

“Me too.” He tells her. Then finally takes his leave. As soon as he shuts the door behind him, he feels a rush of relief so strong that his knees feel weak. He stands outside the office to gather his thoughts and decides that he’s got one major issue to deal with whose name falls under the initials of M.M. and isn’t, in case you were wondering, Mary MacDonald. 

M.M., blonde and beautiful, is sitting in the common room with Mary and Lily as he’d expected her to be. All three of them look up at him as he approaches, feeling very small under their eyes. 

“Marlene, if you don’t mind, could I chat with you? Privately?” Marlene looks up with a questioning expression. 

“Er, yeah, sure.”

“Brill.” She gets up to walk with him, and Remus bites a forced smile at Mary and Lily who watch them curiously. Remus leads Marlene out of the portrait hole and starts walking, knowing that he’s unable to sit down to have this conversation with her. 

“Remus, what’s up?”

“Erm, just for a fun guessing game, who d’you think I’ve just had a conversation with?” Marlene looks at him curiously and shrugs, her face clearly perturbed. “Which professor? She’s a Head of House, Transfiguration teacher, dunno, had some things to say about having a student tell her they were worried about my life at home.” Marlene’s pale face turns pink and she looks away from him as she flushes. “Would you know anything about that?”

“I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“Right, but you told someone.” Marlene looks torn. “After you promised not to,” he adds, digging in.

“It was only Lily!” The confession had been so easy to get that Remus is surprised that he’s just unlocked the next level to their argument. 

“You promised to tell no one!”

“Okay, well!” She begins indignantly. “Have you seen yourself? If your dad’s given you all those scars then it’s  _ not  _ something to keep a secret, because that’s- I mean- that’s horrible! To hurt your child like that!”

“Marlene, for chrissake, it’s not up to you to share my secret! If I don’t want to tell anyone, then I don’t have to! And I trusted you with that, and you went and ran your mouth to Lily, who went and told McGonagall, and that’s my  _ private  _ business.”

“Remus, you can’t go on living like that! Your mum’s ill, your dad’s hurting you, that’s not something you need to deal with alone and I can’t for the life of me understand why you insist on pushing everyone away when all we want is to help you!” 

“I- don’t- want- your- help!” 

Remus is one impulsive moment away from screaming at her, from shouting and telling her that all of it is a lie and he’s a werewolf, but he bites down the words as they bubble up in his chest and takes a few steps away from her, running his hands wildly through his hair.

They’ve stopped to shout at each other in an empty corridor and Marlene crosses her arms defensively, cheeks pink with anger as he turns his back on her and swears loudly, his sharp words echoing down the hallway. When he turns around, he’s infinitely surprised and guilty to find her with tears in her eyes. 

“Remus, please.”

“I shared something private with you in secret and you went and told your friend, and I  _ can’t,  _ Marlene, I can’t. I can’t trust you.”

“I’m sorry, I was just so worried-”

“It’s nothing to worry about!”

“Then what is?!” She shouts, raising her voice again. “If this isn’t worth worrying about, then what is? When will you accept help? When it gets worse? When he kills you?” 

The words are on his tongue, just like with the self harm lying just beneath the surface in McGonagall’s office.  _ My dad isn’t beating me, Marlene, I’ve done it to myself because I’m a werewolf and I think we should break up because I’m a dark creature and also I snogged a bloke over the summer so it would just be for the best. You decide which is worse, eh?  _

“I can’t anymore. I can’t with you.” He chokes, wiping the tears from his eyes and turning back down the hallway, leaving her behind. Marlene calls his name once, pleading. Remus doesn’t reply. Her silence is enough to understand the end of the fight, and he forces the tears away as he makes his way back towards the Gryffindor tower. 

That’s the end of that, then. The Remus Lupin Special- leaving a once healthy and honest relationship in tatters because it’s all his fault. Everything’s his fault and there’s nothing he can do to change it. 


	51. [YR 4] It's Too Cold Tonight

_ it’s too cold tonight, i can’t breathe _

_ if you ripped me open would you find anything to keep?  _

**s**

Sirius is nervous, to say the least, on the train ride back to London. 

Remus had done a bad job of assuring him that there was nothing to worry about at his home, but had told him either way that things would be fine, he was welcome there, and that it’s just for two weeks, right? Sirius is eternally grateful for his show of hospitality but isn’t quite sure how to express his genuine gratitude. 

James had been expressly apologetic about his trip to India and subsequent absence for giving Sirius a warm home to crash in, but Sirius had told  _ him _ not to worry. It’s not James’s job to be Sirius’s newfound brother, anyways. The Potters’ shouldn’t have to take in another child to give a roof over his head, feed him, love him. No one should feel obligated to love him. Somehow, Sirius had been privately okay with the fact that he wouldn’t spend winter break at the Potters’. It makes him feel like an awful burden. 

When they reach King’s Cross, Sirius sits with his face pressed to the window, praying that his parents won’t be there. And they aren’t. As far as he can see. He wants to be off the train and out of the station as soon as possible, and both Remus and James seem to pick up on his apparent paranoia.

“Have fun in India,” he tells James as he hugs him, words thick around the mandrake leaf in his throat. 

“And you in Wales.” James tells him quietly. “Take care, happy Christmas!” It’s the first Christmas where Sirius hasn’t felt anything but dismal unhappiness, and he’s relieved at the light feeling in his chest when he and Remus leave the train station by themselves, turned out loose onto the dark, drizzly streets of London. 

“Your parents don’t pick you up?” Sirius asks. Remus shrugs.

“I’m old enough to get home by myself now. Don’t want to make them bother.” Sirius doesn’t argue. He doesn’t know much about Remus’s life at home, but his friend seems quite distanced from his parents and tells stories about summers spent elsewhere: partying, working, swimming, playing football- anywhere but in a space resembling home. Remus doesn’t seem excited to return to Wales. 

His moods change so frequently and so fast that sometimes Sirius is left overwhelmed while trying to play catch up. So while Sirius walks beside him on the narrow, damp streets of London, he tries to think of a way to cheer Remus up. That responsibility often falls on him, since no one else seems as capable at the job, and Sirius proves himself deserving of it anyways when he suggests they stop to get something to eat. 

Remus pauses, frowning slightly in the rain, glancing at the cafe across the street.

“I haven’t got the money to be buying food.”

“I’ll pay.” Remus looks fit to protest, but Sirius cuts him off. “It’s Christmas! Displays of generosity have to be accepted! Plus, I’m staying at your house, so this is a way to pay you back.”

“You don’t owe me.”

“No, but I’m hungry, and if you don’t want me to buy you something, then fine. I’ll eat, and then I’ll walk back to Wales.” Remus scoffs, hesitates, then follows Sirius across the street. Sirius is hungry, he’s been starving for something solid to eat since the tail end of November, but has to make do with a cup of hot chocolate because he’d rather kill himself than accidentally swallow the mandrake leaf before the month is up. Him and Remus sit in the warm cafe, glowing with light that contrasts the dark grey street outside. 

“Moony, I know a way you can pay me back after all.” Remus is eating a muffin and proceeding to get crumbs all over himself- a fact that Sirius doesn’t point out for fear of getting his head bitten off.

“What’s that?”

“You can turn that frown,” Sirius starts, pushing his finger against Remus’s scarred cheek, “upside down!” Remus bats his hand away, scowling even worse. “Are you planning on moping for the entire duration of our holiday?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why?” Remus does that well practiced heavy sigh and looks down at the table, frowning at all the crumbs he’s left on it. He sweeps away the crumbs (onto his trousers, Sirius might note) and takes a sip of his tea. Because badass, renegade, rebel Remus Lupin gets too worked up while drinking coffee. Who would’ve guessed? 

“I think me and Marlene are done for good.”

“Oh.” 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well holding it in isn’t getting you anywhere.” Remus shrugs and takes another bite of his muffin. “Moony, please don’t mope for two weeks straight.”

“You mope! I’ve  _ seen _ you mope. I’m allowed to!”

“The thing is, and this is the difference between you and I, is that I get bored of moping. D’you know what I mean? Sometimes I’m just like ‘there’s no fun in this anymore’ and so I stop, because honestly, there  _ is  _ no fun in it. Here, can you just put it on pause? Just for Christmas?” Remus stares at him deadpan. “Is that a good compromise?”

“Fine.” He huffs. “It’s getting late, anyways, my dad might be wondering what’s become of us.” 

“Right,” Sirius agrees, though he does wonder how many thoughts Remus’s parents actually spare for their son. 

“Thanks, by the way. For the food.” Remus tells him as they leave the cafe, and Sirius tells him it’s nothing, because to him, it is. Just a few pounds for some food, nothing fancy, but Sirius knows that Remus would’ve never spent his own money on something as useless and self satisfying as a muffin and tea. It’s a quick walk down to Diagon Alley, and Remus makes Sirius repeat his address three times to make sure he’s got it right before disappearing into the fireplace. 

Sirius is right behind him, twisting in a sickening flash of green fire before lurching out of a different fireplace and immediately bumping into a table. He’s standing in a small living room cluttered with soft furniture and lamps of assorted heights that cast the room into bright, golden light. Remus’s father is sitting up on a sofa, looking like he’d been half asleep, and smiles blearily at Sirius.

“Hello, boys! I was wondering when you’d be home.”

“We stopped to get some food.” Remus tells him, chewing on his lip and avoiding his dad’s eyes. 

“Ah, well, that’s good. I sort of forgot about making us supper, so you had the right idea.” Mr. Lupin looks sheepish. “Sirius, is it? I don’t believe we’ve properly met.”

“No, er.” Sirius stops himself before calling him ‘sir’, which seems much too formal to describe the scruffy looking man sitting on the sofa. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lupin, for letting me stay.”

“Of course! I was wondering when Remus would have friends from school over.” The boy in question is shifting anxiously back and forth, watching Sirius and his father talk with an expression of quiet unease. Sirius can see the family resemblance between the two of them (quite clearly, in fact) but it seems like Remus isn’t keen on sitting around to talk.  _ My dad hates me,  _ Sirius remembers Remus telling him during third year. It doesn’t seem that way tonight, but Sirius can’t make snap judgements. 

“How was your term?”

“... Brilliant!” Sirius offers when it becomes clear that Remus isn’t going to respond. 

“Where’s Luke?” He finally asks his dad, still not looking at him.

“Upstairs, with your mum. I think they’re both asleep.”

“I’ll go check. Come on, Sirius, I’ll show you my room.” Sirius looks at Remus, and then back at Mr. Lupin, who eyes his son almost warily. “Night, dad.”

“Goodnight, boys.” 

“Goodnight!” Sirius calls back down the stairs as an afterthought. He’s not used to parents saying goodnight to him. It feels almost disgustingly familial. Something he’s never been used to, something that Remus clearly never thinks twice about as he stomps up the stairs into a very narrow, short hallway with two doors at either end and one in the middle.

“Bathroom’s here,” Remus says, tapping at the door in the middle. “I’m here.” He takes maybe two steps down the tiny hallway to his bedroom and opens the door to a small, cozy, yet untidy bedroom. Kreacher always cleans up Sirius’s room when he’s away (and throws away a good amount of his belongings while he’s at it), but it seems that the only person who comes into Remus’s room is Remus, and he’s away at school most of the year. 

There’s a bed in one corner, a desk in the other, and a cabinet along the wall, leaving not much space in the room. Still, there’s a somewhat lumpy mattress on the floor, covered in blankets and pillows, surrounded by books, records, assorted notebooks, inkwells, clothes, and parchment. The floor is hard to make out under the carpet of random objects. Remus doesn’t look much ashamed. 

“Well, you’ll sleep there. I think my dad’s permanently kipping down on the sofa, so that’s taken.” Remus prods the mattress with his foot. “I bet he transfigured this. Never seen it before. Well, you can make yourself at home.” He glances around the room and says, obviously as an afterthought: “Sorry about the mess. I’ll be right back, I’m going to see if my mum’s awake. And the dog!”

“Don’t forget the dog!” Sirius calls after him. Remus’s smiling face disappears behind his closing door and Sirius hears his footsteps down the hallway as he sinks onto the mattress, looking about Remus’s room. 

He sits for a few minutes, taking in the mess. It might be a disaster, but it’s a very  _ Remus  _ disaster- all books and hasty scribbled sketches, half finished letters, old textbooks. To Sirius, it feels familiar. Oddly like home. 

Remus is back quick, though, apparently having found his mum asleep or unwilling to talk to him. He does, however, have a dog with him. He’s a brown and white springer spaniel with mottled spots on his muzzle, and he throws himself at Sirius in a display of pure affection that only animals seem to possess.

“Hello! Hello, hello, you’re so cute! How are you?” Sirius scratches the dog’s ears and Remus smiles tiredly, sinking down onto his bed next to Sirius’s mattress. 

“This is Luke.”

“Luke! Hiya Luke! I’m Sirius.” Luke licks his face. Sirius laughs. He loves dogs, but they’re on his parents’ list of dirty creatures not permitted inside 12 Grimmauld Place (despite Sirius’s protests that they let  _ Kreacher  _ in, so a dog would be a step up from the dirty elf.) 

When Sirius falls asleep that night, Luke is curled at the foot of Remus’s bed, but he wakes up with the dog on his own mattress. Upon waking, Luke steps onto him and starts licking his face again. Sirius pushes him away gently, still laughing, and rolls over to see Remus perched awkwardly in the windowsill, smoking a fag into the cold grey morning.

“Your parents don’t know?” He asks his friend. 

“Nah, I’m sure it would be a new topic to fight about.” Remus says. “Want a puff?”

“I’m fine.” Luke nudges Sirius’s hand and gently nips at his skin. “The dog need walking?”

“Yeah, pesky little bastard.” Remus looks at Luke. “Aren’t you? You’re a pesky little bastard, aren’t you?” Luke wags his tail and barks. Remus laughs easily, flicks the butt of the fag out the window, and pulls the pane shut. “Let’s go! Do you want to go for a walk, Luke?” Luke barks something that’s got to be a ‘yes’ and Sirius gets up as Remus moves past him in the cramped space of his bedroom- radiating warmth and smelling like cigarettes and home. 

Sirius learns a few things about the Lupin household during his time there. 

He meets Hope- a small, sickly looking woman who engages him in confusing conversation that’s mostly hard for him to endure because of her strong Welsh accent. He learns that none of them eat breakfast and just drink tea instead. He understands that Lyall works every day (he’s gotten Christmas and Boxing Day off, but that’s all) and assumes it’s something to do with extra pay. He learns that Luke seems to have an infinite supply of energy, and him and Remus take a very long walk in the hazy, wet Welsh country during the morning. 

“Hey,” Remus says as they make their way back down the street to his small stone house. “D’you want to meet any of my friends?”

“Your muggle friends? Yeah!” 

“Cool.” They drop Luke off at home (Hope appears to be either passed out or asleep on the sofa at twelve noon and none of them comment on it) and then walk a block over, to a house closely resembling Remus’s own. 

“Sion’s my best mate here, you’ll probably get on with him.”

“Cool.” Remus knocks on the door and stands back with his arms wrapped around himself. It’s quite cold but he’s only wearing a jumper that’s quickly collecting condensation from the foggy air. The door opens on a dark haired boy who looks positively ecstatic to see them. 

“Remus!” The boy steps down and embraces Remus tightly. Remus laughs over his shoulder, hugging him back, and pulls away looking rather red faced. “Was wondering when you’d be back!”

“Here I am! This is my mate from school, Sirius. He’s staying with me over break.”

“Hey.” Sirius tells him.

“Hiya.” Sion smiles at him. “Your name’s Serious?” His Welsh accent is heavy and thick around the word, and Sirius can’t help but nearly laugh at the sound.

“No, Sirius.” He says his name slowly, getting the pronunciation across. “It’s a star.”

“Ohhh.” Sion nods like he understands it all now, and takes another, better look at Sirius’s long hair. “Your parents were hippies, like?” Now Sirius does laugh- unable to help himself, and Remus snickers knowingly. 

“No, not at all. Complete opposites. Just a family naming tradition. Space names.”

“Ah.” Sion scratches at his head and peers past them at the street outside. “Weather’s quite shite, but we can take you up to the castle for a bit of fun?” 

The prospect of a castle does sound fun to Sirius, and they’re off to check it out in a few minutes. Sirius had been afraid of being left behind in a strange haze of awkwardness, but Sion talks to him as though he’s known him for years, and the three of them talk loudly and quickly as they walk through the town of Mold. 

It seems that somehow, no matter where he is, Sirius can always feel safe when Remus is by his side. Not just safe, necessarily, but like he belongs. At Hogwarts, or in Wales, or wherever he’s taken in dreams. Safe together, side by side.

**r**

Christmas Day is a quiet and awkward celebration for the four of them. No one has any properly good gifts to give to each other, except for Sirius, who gives Remus an evidently expensive Self-Inking Quill made of a golden eagle feather. Remus accepts it with wholehearted embarrassment, especially since his own gift to Sirius had been an assortment of Zonko’s products and a grungy black and blue Stooges shirt he’d come across in a shop last year and had been saving to give to him as a gift. 

“I’m sorry.” Remus tells him randomly that night. They’re sitting up in Remus’s bedroom, drinking hot chocolate and talking about things that Remus won’t remember in the morning. “For your gift, it’s not much.”

“Piss off Moony, this is my favorite shirt ever!” Sirius has been wearing it since he got it, and Remus must admit, the dark-punk-muggle look suits him exceptionally well. “And the Zonko’s was a necessity. James and I have been testing this idea of mixing Dungbombs, Stink Pellets, and using whatever mechanism that makes the cards blow up in Exploding Snap to create some nasty detonations. Well.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “We’ll need your help on the Exploding Snap part.” Remus sighs. 

“That quill was so expensive-”

“Remus, honestly, please. We said no more moping, and you gave me a nice gift and you’re getting mopey because you’re jealous that I got this shirt and not you. It’s not fair at all, is it? I’m sorry. Do you want it back?” 

Remus scoffs but retreats back to sipping his chocolate. He’d found the food scene at his house alarmingly scarce upon returning, but Sirius has mysteriously been eating a distinct lack of solid foods for a while (probably a hex gone wrong), so their lack of a proper Christmas dinner had gone apparently unnoticed by him. Remus can feel the distance yawning between his parents, and can feel himself pulling away from them as time goes on. 

And his dad- well. 

Lyall had been asleep on the couch when Remus had floo-ed in from Diagon Alley, and upon waking up, in the brief moments before Sirius joined them, he hadn’t known what to say to his son. Since then, he’s spoken only very sparingly to Remus, and his mum is usually either asleep or closed up in her room so Remus doesn’t hear much from either of them. 

When the moon is full, on the 29th, Remus spends most of the day in bed, itching for a fag but not having the energy nor willpower to sit up and hang precariously out the window to smoke one. He apologizes again to Sirius, for this trip can’t have been nearly as fun as staying at James’s ever would be, but Sirius Black is not one to accept unnecessary apologies and waves him off again, like he’s used to it by now. Which he is.

“You can go downstairs and find some food, if you like.” Remus tells Sirius when darkness sets in and Sirius gets up to turn the lamps on around Remus’s room. 

“Maybe later.” Sirius replies halfheartedly. Remus supposes that he’s noticed the general scarcity of food in the house. “Where do you go for the… transformation?”

“The cellar.” Remus is dreading this transformation and feels guilty for leaving Sirius to sit up in his room overnight while he tears himself to shreds and howls at the moon. He’s embarrassed, he realizes. Badly embarrassed. 

“Oh.” Remus shifts in bed, pushing back the covers and sitting up straight. His bones buzz with aching energy and his head aches so bad that his vision is blotchy and for a moment, he sees two Siriuses sitting across the room. He blinks, and there’s only one. Remus sighs. 

“I’d better go down now. Sorry about all of this-”

“Moony, please stop apologizing.” Sirius looks at him with those big blue eyes, pity eyes, and Remus fights back tears that have suddenly risen in his eyes- emotions under the surface that have been brought just below the skin due to the wolf. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

“Right… yeah.” Sirius looks at him, sitting on the edge of his bed with the covers pushed back, leaning forward like he’s going to be sick. Pathetic. That’s what Remus feels. “Well, I’ll go. Goodnight.” The ‘goodnight’ is a reflex, the same thing he says to Madam Pomfrey every month in the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius looks at him with those same sad eyes that make Remus want to cry.

“Goodnight, Moony.”

It isn’t a good night at all.

Remus walks shakily down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. His father is working in the living room, a report spread out in front of him as he marks it up. He looks up at Remus standing pale and weak in front of him. 

“I’m, er, going downstairs.” Lyall and Hope had used to dote on him- hugging him and holding him close and telling him that everything was going to be okay. That they loved him. Now, his father can hardly look at him. And his mum hasn’t even mentioned the full moon. Remus supposes she’s forgotten but when the house shakes under her and his hoarse voice (not his own, but still his) shatters the quiet of the night, he knows she’ll remember. Lyall’s eyes flicker over Remus once more.

“Do you need something?” His father snaps, and Remus feels decades of built up guilt pressing tightly on his chest. 

“No, no. Sorry…” He descends into the cellar, locks the door down each latch (five bolts plus magical reinforcements), and only starts crying when he realizes he hasn’t brought a fag down with him. The transformation takes him.

Claws through fur, sticky, bleeding gashes, howling. Fiery pain. Anger, anger, anger. Flashes through the eyes of something that isn’t him. The wolf can’t cut itself up while locked in a stone cellar, and the lack of things to break lead it to tear at itself, scratching and clawing and howling. So lonely. 

Remus doesn’t retain any human thoughts until he wakes up in the morning retching and bleeding. It’s a bleak morning for him.

His mum comes downstairs, though, and he’s grateful for that. He’d been staring at the wall, unable to move for the pain was so bad, and he’d heard the locks on the door turn, counted all five of them slide open and then her footsteps, quick and rushed as she came upon him.

“Remus, oh Remus…”

“Mum,” he rasped, not sparing a thought for feeling pathetic now. “Mum.” 

“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you. Here.” She drapes a blanket over him and sinks down to the floor beside him, running her hands along his head as he begins to cry from the relief of having her there. “Oh, Remus, it’s okay now. It’s all okay.” It’s not okay, not really, but he sobs either way and feels alright because his mum can see him cry, if anyone can. 

He isn’t sure how long they’re down on the floor of the cellar, like two people hiding away from the rest of the world because in it is a world of unbearable suffering that neither of them feel much equipped to deal with. His mum starts talking to him properly after a while, not like he’s a child.

“Remus, I’m sorry about last night. I… I wasn’t thinking clearly.”  _ She forgot.  _ Remus has sat up now, back against the wall, blanket wrapped around his thin body. His mum looks nearly as bad as he does- red eyed, pale, nervous. She’s sober, though, at least. 

Remus understands that he’s kept everyone up all night- his dad who has work early this morning and is ashamed of him, his mum who’d gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to life, and Sirius, his best mate, who should be at home with a loving family right now and instead has to settle for Remus’s broken disaster of a household. 

“It’s okay.” He tells her. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame dad, either.”

“Oh, Remus, he loves you so much.” Hope tells him. “It’s hard for him, I won’t say it isn’t, but he does, Remus. So much. He’s proud of you for everything you’ve done, and he doesn’t show it well, but oh god, does he love you. And I do too. I’m  _ so  _ proud of everything you’ve done, Remus.” Hope’s eyes have taken on a glassy look and Remus looks away from her, stomach twisting half from emotions and half from nausea.

“I love you too, mum.”

“And things are bad right now, love, and I’m sorry things have turned out like this. They’ll get better, I know they will.” Remus isn’t so sure, but nods anyway. It’s easier not to fight it. 

He spends the rest of the morning nauseous and ill in bed. Sirius had been awake when his mum helped him back into his bedroom, talking to a magic compact mirror that he uses to talk to James. Hope hadn’t said anything, just made a funny face, and left Remus with a bin to be sick in and some headache tablets. 

Remus lies half curled in his bed, wearing only his pants and a t-shirt that’s clinging to his sweaty skin.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to be sick.” Sirius looks over from where he’s sitting at his desk with a most likely unread book in front of him- eyebrows raised in concern. 

“Can’t help it, I’m afraid. Go ahead.” Remus’s stomach lurches and he vomits into the bin while Sirius stares on in mild alarm. “D’you want me to go?” Remus retches again and then lays back, head tilted towards the ceiling, throat working to swallow down bile. 

“Nowhere for you to go, is there? Nah, you can tend to me on my sickbed. This’ll be over soon, I hope. Then I’ll get sleepy.”

“Sleepy’s better.” 

“Mmm.” Another wave of nausea crashes into Remus and he heaves once more into the bin, although his stomach is empty and there’s nothing but drippy acid and coughed up water. 

“You haven’t got any potions?”

“Nah,” Remus pants, spitting again. “Nah, I dunno.”

“Do you want some water?”

“Could I get some quiet, mate, please?” Sirius shuts up, then, mouth pressed in a tight line while Remus curls up again on the bed, heaving for breath. His chest aches from the splintering pain of the transformation and it’s a beat later that he registers the odd terminology he stuck on Sirius- calling him ‘mate’. They never call each other that. It’s a James word, a casual word, a circular word that doesn’t fit into the square peg of the friendship that Sirius and Remus share. 

Maybe that’s why Sirius sits back so anxiously, hands flickering across the book he’d pretending to be reading, eyes jumpy. Remus has reduced him to something  _ less,  _ just by the casual slight of one word. 

But Remus can’t take it back now. Sirius doesn’t say anything and that’s okay. 

He offers to get Remus some fresh air and food later in the afternoon, and Remus feels okay enough to agree. He goes to the bedroom door only in his pants and Sirius laughs out loud, asking if he’s going to show his intimates to the whole village, and Remus laughs back while pulling on a pair of trousers. He wonders if Sirius had seen the harsh red scars on his thighs. Ones that hadn’t been left by the moon.

Remus walks slowly as they leave, limping slightly, and Sirius doesn’t push him to go any faster. They don’t talk much. The air is cold and wet with usual fog, but it does serve to dampen Remus’s headache and he tries to stretch out the walk as long as he can manage without ending up collapsing. But when he returns home, going back into his cluttered, overheated room sounds nauseating enough so him and Sirius just sit in the back garden, watching their breath fog up in the grey air.

“Remus.” Sirius tells him, shifting in the dripping iron chair he’s sat in.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you asked me here. I really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Remus tells him, sort of confused. “Of course.” Sirius nods, opens his mouth to say something, and then decides against it. Then they sit in silence. Not a cold one, or an awkward one. Companionable and peaceful. Just what Remus needs. 


	52. [YR 4] Is It the Same for You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doing the unfortunate duty of exploring the grey areas of characters we know and love... it's gotta happen yo. lyric is from "antichrist" by the 1975 which very much reminds me of the black family dynamics. highly recommend (as always!) 
> 
> unrelated buuuut i'm moving across the country for college to take on the great pacific northwest in a few days, so posting might be a bit slower. it'll def be at LEAST once a week, but i've been posting like every day bc there's nothing to do at home and life is (sadly?) going to pick up again once at school. but don't fret i would never ever give up on this fic. i love it way too much

**_1974 → 1975_ **

_the blood is on your tongue as well as your hands_

**reg**

Regulus sits and stares out his bedroom window. Wishes he was elsewhere. 

It’s not like he has it bad at home, not really, it’s just that sometimes Grimmauld feels like choking, like suffocating and he only gets a breath of fresh air when locked up in his dark bedroom, away from family and expectations and feeling so completely lost and out of control. 

Regulus has never understood the concept of control. 

He hasn’t been given any for his whole life, and he’s watched his brother drift away into Gryffindor, sorted into a new house with new friends and watches him turn rebel, pull pranks and get away with half of them, serve detentions for the other half, and smile that knife sharp grin through it all. Grows his hair long, dates Muggleborn girls with dark skin who laugh almost as loud as he does, gets kicked out the house and doesn’t come back when he knows he should. 

Sirius Black. He’s known around the school, one of the most popular boys both in and out of his years, and Regulus, well. Regulus is obedient, and well behaved, and everything that Walburga and Orion expected in their firstborn- the heir of their fortune. 

So when Kreacher is sent to King’s Cross to pick up Regulus instead of his parents (most likely as a tactic to embarrass Sirius), it’s only Regulus, not Sirius, that has to deal with the motificitation of having his house elf collect him from the station.

This isn’t anything abnormal. Over the years, Regulus has come to terms with his parents setting regulations and unfair statues upon the both of them, with only Sirius in mind when it came to learning his lesson or changing his mind about his behaviors. Regulus is always left with the fallout- hearing both Sirius and his parents’ side of the argument and trying to find some sort of reconciliation between the two of them, and being unable to bring them to any sense of peace. 

And, to be honest, he’s grown tired of it.

It seems that neither his brother nor his parents are ever willing to do so much as compromise with each other, not giving in any slack, and it makes the familial relationships so incredibly strained and awful that Regulus begins to hate both of the warring parties. It’s selfish, he can understand that much, but he’d love some peace. He’d love a proper family. 

But wishing and hoping has never gotten him anywhere. 

He arrives home from the station to find both parents in the drawing room, evidently waiting for Sirius to be trailing behind, shirt untucked, hair far too long, grin too mischievous for their liking. But he’s not. 

Sirius had spoken briefly to him on the platform at Hogwarts, telling him that he was going home for the holidays with Remus and that Reg would be fine, right? Regulus had told him yeah, sure, that’s fine but he had somehow (and for no good reason) been preparing himself for Sirius coming home with him. 

“Where’s your brother?” Walburga snaps in that disappointed voice that’s usually reserved for Sirius, not Regulus. 

“At his friend’s house.” Regulus tells her, not wanting to disclose Remus’s name in case Walburga is planning some sort of way to get him back home, which wouldn’t be out of the question for her.

“The Potters?” She asks, and Regulus makes the mistake of shrugging in response. “Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, boy. Answer my question!” Orion, standing tall and silent behind her, places a comforting hand on Walburga’s shoulder and instead of shaking him off like she’d do otherwise, she takes a deep breath and looks at Regulus again, apparently with new eyes.

“I don’t know his name, mother. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, Regulus, I was being unfair. It’s good to have you home.” Walburga’s hugs are stiff but they mean everything when awarded, and Regulus is surprised to be pulled into one tonight. “You’re such a good son: you make me proud, you’ve never put a stain on this family’s name, and you have proper ambition. I’m proud of you.” 

There’s never any “I love you”s with Walburga, and especially less with Orion, but both of them have a certain way of saying things with undertones in their voices that let Regulus know he’s loved. And for that, at least, he’s grateful.

He’d returned from the station late and it becomes almost upsettingly clear that both parents had already eaten and were most likely going to send Sirius up to his room without dinner, but Sirius hadn’t returned. So Regulus eats at the long, low table in the kitchen by himself while his parents talk out in the drawing room, playing classical music on the phonograph in unsuccessful attempts to drown out the sound of their voices. 

Christmas dinner isn’t much better. 

The whole family is over plus friends- aunts, uncles, cousins, husbands and boyfriends of said cousins, and Regulus sits straight backed at the table while listening to various Blacks, Lestranges, and of course the single Malfoy at the table use countless slurs, speak in ways that are almost genocidal, and in general discuss topics that, at large, Regulus is uncomfortable with. 

And _yes,_ Uncle Cygnus, I did attend a private meeting with the Dark Lord himself and _no_ Mr. Lestrange, I haven’t yet been on a raid.

“I’m only thirteen,” Regulus reminds the table- evidently the youngest one there and without the presence of Sirius, the only one still at Hogwarts. 

“Regulus, you should be grateful for the opportunity that you’ve been given.” Uncle Cygnus starts. “Not many other thirteen year olds are personally known by the Dark Lord himself and have been offered as many liberties as you have been in regards to his passions. His movement is one of the strongest and fastest growing that I’ve seen in a long, long time. Not since Grindelwald.”

Regulus remains silent, not knowing if Grindelwald is yet another figure that they should be looking up to. 

“And Bellatrix here is incredibly impassioned about the cause,” Cygnus continues, gesturing at the dark haired girl across the table. “The Death Eaters’ need young blood.” Murmurs of affirmation and agreement from the rest of the table. 

“We’re planning a raid,” Bellatrix says from the end of the table, loud and clear so all of the faces turn to face her. “A big one, to celebrate the New Year.” 

“I hope it’s something inventive.” Roderick Lestrange imparts. Surprisingly, Walburga and Orion have been generally silent throughout the dinner, even though it’s hosted at their house. Orion is usually the silent type at dinner parties, but Walburga doesn’t seem to have much to say on the topic. 

Conversations turns away from politics, both finally and thankfully, and when Regulus is asked about his time at Hogwarts, he’s due to admit that he’s been made seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team. 

“Quite proud, honestly.” Orion confesses to the table. “I played seeker during my time at Hogwarts, so he’s following in my footsteps.” Regulus looks down with a bashful smile and ignores the nagging sensation in his stomach that tells him _Sirius plays for the Gryffindor team and they won the cup last year, so don’t brag about me and my losing team,_ but no, it’s okay to let things be about him for once, and he talks Quidditch with the family and then Christmas dinner ends- with Regulus being excused when the adults get too drunk and forget to exclude him in polite conversation.

Bellatrix might’ve been a little tipsy, but she gets quieter when drunk, more pensive, and slips upstairs to follow Regulus after dinner. The house is dark and unbearably cold. Dead of winter. Regulus hears the voices of his family echo from downstairs as he pushes open the door to his bedroom, and he nearly screams in fright when Bellatrix whispers “boo!” from behind him.

“Merlin, Bella, don’t sneak up on me like that!” She doesn’t answer- all pale faced in the dim light of the house, and her dark lip shade that Walburga had commented on makes her lips a slash of black to match her wild, curly hair. She doesn’t respond to him directly and instead leans against the doorway to his bedroom, head tilted to the side and sleeve falling down her arm to reveal what looks like a tattoo on her forearm. 

She slides her sleeve back down before Regulus can get a better look.

“Any interest in this raid we’ve planned?” Regulus swallows hard. 

“What?”

“Do you,” she starts, drawing out her words in a way that never fails to make him feel stupid, “want to join us in our New Year’s raid?” 

“Erm.” Regulus tells her, watching the dark of her eyes flash across his with familiar easiness. “I dunno… what does it involve?”

“We’re thinking of this train station. In Croydon, you know?” Regulus pauses again, wanting to please her but not wanting to join her all the same. “Think it over.” She tells him in a slower voice, eyes darker than ever, telling him to obey. And for a moment, Regulus thinks. 

These thoughts, he’ll admit, are not something he’d be proud of while looking back on his decisions but he’s young, thirteen seeming not quite old enough to know better (as his mother would say) and he thinks: how bad could it be? Really, how bad could it be? 

He’s a pureblood, safe behind the grandeur of his family’s name, and how bad could it be to join a dark crowd on New Years Eve, having their own version of fun by trying out spells at East Croydon Station, spells that muggles couldn’t even _dare_ dream up, and so what if he gets a little thrill just thinking about it? 

The cold wind bitter on his cheeks as he tears through the streets after the attacks are out, whooping wildly as fireworks and sirens go off in the distance- ringing out the new year, 1975, with his heart beating a fast _bum-BUM bum-BUM_ rhythm in his chest as he follows Bellatrix in a sprint down an alleyway. Croydon is dark and cold, and Regulus can barely make out Bellatrix and tall, thin, long-haired Rabastan laughing in between pants for breath. Then Bellatrix’s voice, warning him a second before she presses her hand onto his arm and they disappear in a whirlwind of nighttime with the scent of crackling smoke still clinging to their clothes. 

**l**

Lily hears about the attacks before realizing that they’ve anything to do with the Death Eaters. 

She knows them by name, now, because sometimes her and Mary and Dorcas will exchange news with each other in hushed tones- worried about things that their other friends don’t seem to find nearly as pressing or troublesome. She’s kept up at night whenever ambushes are carried out, and it’s always weighing on her mind when she hears about muggles being attacked. 

It could be her family, next time. 

And it was Dorcas’s mum, last year, and it could be Lily’s mum this year so she’s got to be vigilant and careful but she’s _worried,_ so worried because no one else talks about it. Not except the muggleborns. 

On the Hogwarts Express after Christmas holidays, Lily is surprised to see the platform bearing its usual form of cheer and excitement. However, once sat in the compartment with her friends, three out of the four of them are set to discuss the recent news spotted in bold words in The Times or Metro or some such thing.

“Mary, those attacks in Croydon, did you hear-?” Dorcas sets the words out easily and Mary descends into chatter with her, speaking fast and loud in ways that she and Dorcas do best while Marlene looks on anxiously, confused but not asking what happened in that silent way she does so well. 

When Marlene finally asks what’s happened (only to Lily, so as not to interrupt the other girls), she’s clearly shocked to learn about the attack at East Croydon Station on New Years’ that had left hundreds wounded and ten dead. 

Ten dead. 

Lily likes to tell herself that she’s not keeping count of all the lives lost in this war already- and this isn’t even the beginning, she reminds herself- because they’re just numbers: body counts to the media and Hogwarts students alike, but they’re living breathing _people._ They had entire lives, futures, families, friends and memories that had been snuffed out so, so fast and for what reason but prejudice?

Remus doesn’t stop by their carriage like he usually does to chat with Marlene, and neither does Danny Hunter nor Hyatt Ibex (much to Lily’s dismay), but Kingsley Shacklebolt, however, does. 

“Alright, Meadowes?” He asks Dorcas in that deep dark voice of his as he slides open the door. Dorcas looks at him in her nonplussed way, eyebrows quirked, face held taut in strong, firm, unabashed impassivity. “Heard the news, you know.” He continues, noting the questioning look on her face. “Was wondering if you were okay.” 

Dorcas gets up to walk and talk with him while Mary, Lily, and Marlene are left forlorn and desperately alone in their carriage.

“How’s Ibex, then?” Mary is the first to ask, bravely testing the waters of boy territory that Marlene so far seems to be avoiding at all costs. 

“He’s fine.” Lily tells her distantly. Truth be told, her relationship with Hyatt has fizzled out as soon as it had sparked up at the end of third year. This year, he’s been busy with Quidditch and preparing for his O.W.L.s while she’s just been… well, it seems that she’s just been anxious. She’d had a wonderful night with him at the ball on Halloween but since then, it seems that they’ve drifted further and further apart.

Hyatt sits down the table from her at dinner on their first night back from holidays with his fifth year friends while she pretends not to look at him, but he stops to talk with her in the common room for a while afterwards. But she’s exhausted from a day of travel and in a heightened state of preoccupation because of the discussions her friends had been having all night, so she doesn’t spend as much time with him as she could, or should.

January seems to drag by, but by the end of the month, Lily finds herself unable to look back and remember anything that might’ve taken place. She spends most days feeling sort of ill: twisting stomach and sweaty palms for no good reason other than she’s anxious. Mostly about being muggleborn, although she herself has never been attacked, there’s the underlying worry of what _could_ happen and that worry is enough for her to lose track of herself. 

Lily won’t walk to class alone, writes to her family nearly every day even when there’s nothing to update them on, and constantly reads the newspapers even though she knows it won’t help. 

One day at dinner, she’s poring over a copy of the evening Prophet, anxiously reading for news of further attacks on muggles (she goes out of her way to look for them at this point) when James Potter snatches the newspaper out of her hands. 

He’d been explaining some confusing contraption to Black and Pettigrew, and hadn’t bothered to ask before ripping the newspaper away from her and leaving a searing red paper cut across her palm.

“Oi!” Lily shouts, momentarily overwhelmed with the pain and then with anger. James transfigures the newspaper to be blank and pulls a quill from his bag to begin drawing out a diagram.

“Come on, Evans,” he chides without looking at her. Remus looks worriedly at the bleeding cut on her hand. “You read enough of the ruddy newspaper, what are you even looking for? Thinking of writing for them?”

“The news _changes,_ Potter, for christ’s sake. You cut my hand.” Potter finally looks up from his hastily scrawled picture and frowns at her.

“Sorry. Anyways, the cord of the pulley would wrap around here…” He continues explaining to Black, ripping another shred off of the paper. Black looks up at her momentarily before turning back to the diagram. Lily huffs and stands up, her temper growing ever shorter as she storms down the hall. 

The last straw is seeing Hyatt entering the dining hall while talking with a girl in his year. He sees Lily storming out of the hall and instead of noticing her anger, he shoots her finger guns and says-

“You- me- Hogsmeade this weekend! We’ll celebrate your birthday early!” And he keeps walking without waiting for a reply. Lily is incensed. All men, every last one of them, deserve nothing but the absolute worst because of their lack of tact, complete obliviousness, and an astounding shortage of common sense. 

These sentiments are proven to be frighteningly accurate on the last day of January, the first day Lily spends as a fifteen year old (which she hates, so far. A number far too great to represent her inability to stop aging because growing up is so scary and she’d like to avoid it forever, maybe) and the first day this year that she completely loses her temper.

Sure, she’s been wound up for a few weeks and her date with Hyatt to celebrate her birthday had gone as well as expected- he’d talked about anything except for her and she’d stewed about it unhappily- even unhappier that Severus had tried to spend time with her the previous day to celebrate and she’d become overwhelmed by confusing feelings about what to do with him as a friend. 

So, to set the scene, she’s sitting in the common room angrily marking down her Arithmancy homework while Remus sits across the table from her, looking decidedly sickly while hastily finishing an essay for History of Magic. Pettigrew is watching him write over his shoulder (the rest of the gang is at Quidditch practice and Mary’s off with her boyfriend), and Remus seems to be reaching the end of his own tether. 

It’s when Peter asks him- “Can I see that when you’ve finished?” that Remus’s response shakes Lily out of her angry daze of dashing down numbers.

“I’d rather you not.” Remus snaps at him. Lily glances up, seeing Peter look confused. 

“But you’re done and it’s due Wednesday, and I can swap my Transfiguration essay with yours-”

“I don’t want your essay, I’ve already done it.”

“But it’s no issue! All you have to do is hand it to me! Or just leave it there, and get up and walk away and pretend not to notice!” 

“Peter, I don’t want you copying my work.”

“I’ve been copying for years!”

“And you can put a bloody fucking end to it as soon as you see fit!” Remus shouts, attracting the attention of others in the common room. “You never change the words enough, it’s obvious you’re just using all my writing, and I’ve had it! Just piss off, for fuck’s sake, stop pestering me and for once in your life just do your own work and stop leeching off of others! Fuck!” Lily watches wide eyed as Remus gathers his things and storms out of the common room, tripping on his way out of the portrait hole. 

Peter sits looking stunned and turns to Lily, wide eyed and embarrassed. 

“I didn’t mean-”

“Just leave it, Peter.” But for some reason, she feels bad for him. Remus seems to spend his whole life shouting at people, beating people up, and then storming away in a mood to let others run after him and make him feel better about what he’s done. It’s notably Black justifying all of his behavior (even Potter seems wary of Remus’s anger sometimes), and Lily’s own apparently incurable frustration finally boils over. Maybe she’s just looking for a fight. 

She storms out of the portrait hole, glad to see that Remus hasn’t moved very fast, and chases his limping form down the hall. 

“Remus!” She shouts, watching him stop short. “What on earth is wrong with you?” He turns around, now, head hanging low and eyes wary. Remus always looks sort of feeble but today is one of his worst- his eyes are ringed by dark circles, his skin a greenish white, the slashed scars across his nose and puckered acne pockmarks on his hollowed cheeks making him look almost zombie-like. 

“What?” His voice is a harsh croak.

“Have you ever stopped to realize that you’ve ruined most every relationship in your life because of your inability to control your anger? Beating people up in the courtyard, ruining things with Marlene, and now even Peter! Your friends are scared of you, Remus! You can’t keep treating people this way!” 

Remus stares at her with those hunted sad eyes that Lily knows he’s set on Marlene before. He looks so ghastly and pathetic that she understands why Sirius and Marlene love him so- he’s just begging to be taken care of when he gets that look on his face, a look that says _please fix me_ and it’s either that expression or anger on his face. But he can’t be angry now. He just looks at her, sad. 

“Yeah.” Lily gawks.

“ _Yeah?”_ She repeats, watching his shoulders shrug.

“Yeah, I know.” Remus presses his lips together and looks her up and down, then shrugs again like he’s given up. Completely hopeless. “I know they’re scared.” He tells her. “I’m sorry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also... comments make me cry (in the best way). i love comments. thank you to everyone commenting because i straight up am addicted to feedback. if you've got something to say, do not hesitate to share it because i'll treasure it forever <3


	53. [YR 4] Big God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although i love lily & remus's friendship, there's truly nothing like lily & sirius's friendship/dynamic. like i feel that their personalities are so fun together!! 
> 
> remus's scene was definitely somewhat inspired by [this](https://atalienart.tumblr.com/post/125775661037/wow-such-struggle-much-pain-no-but-seriously-its) amazing fanart that you should check out

_sometimes i think it’s getting better, and then it gets much worse_

_is it just a part of the process? jesus christ, it hurts_

**r**

It’s probably his flip flopping moods and most likely the anger, but it’s also got a lot to do with the limp that won’t quit. Remus first finds himself holed up in the library, trying to find any details of ingredients that could help him. Not only with the incessant pain in his leg that’s causing the limp, but with _anything_ that could possibly make the transformations a little less intense. Because he’s been stuck in a bad mood for months now, and he’s quickly growing tired of it all.

He’s run out of potions from Madam Pomfrey and doesn’t want to go back to ask her for more, half out of embarrassment and half because he’s finding it harder and harder to reach out for help. Many nights, he’s lain in bed thinking of how easy it would be to walk across the bedroom and give the pocket knife back to James and tell him to keep it for good this time, but instead he’ll walk to the bathroom and add yet another scar to his growing collection.

Today, he’s tired. 

Today, he misses Sion and home and sitting in the countryside fields, smoking fags and sometimes joints and being young, unburdened by this pain he can’t get rid of. He still hurts in the muggle world, but it’s so much less, somehow. 

Once he makes a list of ingredients (lavender, dittany, wolfsbane, moonseed), he drags his rather unwilling body out of the library and down to the greenhouses. There’s still a thin layer of snow on the ground in early February, but Remus is most always feverish and feels overheated and nauseous even in his warm school robes. 

The greenhouse is warm in the late afternoon light, and Remus drops his black cloak and bag onto a workbench before slowly moving down the rows of potted plants- lines and lines of vibrant green life. Light in the greenhouse always takes on a different quality- warmer than it is outside and turning everything brighter than life.

He spots a pot of wolfsbane and picks it up, shuffling his ingredient list in his hand and leaning too heavily on his left leg, the one that’s never quite healed properly from being broken, and the combination of pain shooting up his hip and his endlessly shaky hands lead to him dropping the pot on the floor; cracking it and sending dirt everywhere.

Blast.

Remus heaves a sigh before slowly kneeling down to the floor, tears rising to his eyes at the pain springing up in his leg from contorting it in such away. Once on the ground, kneeling shakily, his nausea returns tenfold and he pauses for a moment, face between his hands, taking deep breaths because the last thing he needs is to throw up all over the greenhouse floor.

From behind him comes a voice. 

“Remus?” Someone kneels down next to him, gently touching his shoulder, and he removes his hands to see the kind green eyes of Lily Evans. “Are you alright?” She looks at the cracked pot, spilling dirt and wolfsbane alike onto his ingredient list. 

“I’m, er…” He doesn’t know how to reply and rocks back into a sitting position, knees bent in front of him. Lily sits down too. 

She casts “Reparo” on the flowerpot and it mends itself, winding the dirt back behind the ceramic, flowers standing up straight. 

“Wolfsbane?” She asks, and picks up his hastily scrawled list of ingredients. Remus feels helpless. He’s spent so long lying and weaseling his way out of conversations due to his illness, but now, he just doesn’t have the energy to make up an excuse. Lily frowns. “Powdered silver, dittany? Remus, what are you trying to make?”

“Nothing, just…” But Lily’s taken both Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts and pays attention in both of those subjects, so she looks up at Remus with an expression resembling understanding. “It’s nothing.” 

“Remus…” Lily looks at him, eyes flickering over his scars, and then back down at the list in her hands. “Oh, Remus. That’s it, then? You’re a… you’re a werewolf?” All Remus can do is nod. “Come here,” Lily tells him, pulling him forward and wrapping him in a hug so warm and so soft that it’s all Remus can do to sit there and not start crying over her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a voice muffled by her jumper. Lily pulls back, face clear and unjudging.

“Don’t apologize-”

“For the lying,” Remus continues. “For all of the lying.” Lily pauses, eyebrows drawn in thought. “There’s no excuse for it-”

“Of course there’s an excuse for it, you can’t go around telling people you’re a werewolf, can you? Wow, this makes so much sense. So… so the scars-”

“I gave them to myself.” He tells her miserably. “My dad hasn’t beat me, my mum isn’t ill, none of that’s true. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Lily continues quickly. “I understand why you had to. Potter and Black and Pettigrew, they all know?” Remus nods. This is a much, much easier conversation to have than he expected. It’s probably because Lily’s a muggleborn. She doesn’t have any of the prejudice that pure or half bloods do. And yet she continues: 

“And Marlene…” God, what he would give to avoid another taxing conversation about Marlene. 

“I can’t tell her, Lily, she’s pureblooded and they’ve got all these prejudices-”

“What, like Black isn’t prejudiced? Or Potter? All of them are purebloods!”

“It’s not the same.” Remus hugs his knees to his chest and looks down at the now-forgotten wolfsbane sitting on the floor. “I can’t tell her. And you can’t either, okay?” It’s not like he thinks Lily would go spill his secret (in fact, he believes that she and James are the most trustworthy people to ever exist) but he knows how girls get to talking about other people’s problems and spilling information that they shouldn’t be. 

“Of course, I would never tell. I promise.” Remus nods, not looking at her, still feeling a tightness in his throat that makes him wonder if he’s going to be sick. “Well!” Lily says, bouncing to her feet and offering a hand to help him up. “I reckon I’ll help in your search for a cure. Up you get!” Remus takes her hand and scrapes himself to his feet, dusting the dirt front he greenhouse floor off of his trousers. 

Lily takes his list and moves down the aisle while Remus leans back against the bench, wiping sweat from his forehead. Maybe he will go back to Pomfrey after all. He can’t live out the rest of this school year with a permanent fever. Remus feels like a walking infection. And there’s Lily, shifting flowerpots and assorted plants aside as she tries to help. 

**l**

Of all the people to break Lily out of her strange, anxious daze, she hadn’t expected it to be Sirius Black.

He seems to be filled with a never ending cheer: a charming, positive attitude and that knife sharp grin that breaks countless girls’ hearts. 

“Hello Lily!” Sirius tells her as he drops down next to her in Potions again, on a Thursday morning in February. He’s one of those nuisances that changes his seating arrangements by the day- sitting where he wants when he wants, and Lily throws an apologetic glance back at Marlene, who’s been partnered up with Potter again. The pair of them get along quite well, though, and Marlene gives her an endearing shrug. 

“Hi, Sirius, how are you?”

“Oh, just brilliant, today. Most days, really. Never been better. So, another Slug Club meeting this weekend, are you going?” Sirius props his chin on his hand and gazes at her with his greyish blue eyes. 

“Erm, yeah, I suppose.” He beams at her in a familiar way and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Want to go with me?” Lily smiles, turning her face to her cauldron to distract herself from the strange happiness he seems to bring her. 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Excellent! What’s on our menu today?” Lily instructs Sirius on what to do, and he proves to be rather adept at following directions, leaving them with another perfect mark on their potion. After class, Lily follows Sirius out of the dungeons while keeping up a conversation with him, but he turns left while she turns right. 

“Where are you off to?” She asks before she can help herself. Potter and Lupin have caught up with Sirius and look oddly suspicious. 

“Got some things to take care of.” Sirius replies airily, sharing a grin with Potter that Lily doesn’t like the look of. They’re always up to some sort of mischief, but over the years, Remus has warned Lily about assorted pranks so she’s missed out on being subject to the consequences caused by teenage boys with a penchant for trouble. 

So she eats lunch with Dorcas and Marlene while listening to Dorcas’s plans for their free periods in the afternoon, which involve baking cookies for their Quidditch team.

“There’s nothing more morale boosting than baked goods,” Dorcas explains while Lily and Marlene share knowing looks. “And we’re playing Slytherin this weekend, so morale has to be _high._ Do you two want to help?” 

“Only if you’re using magic.” Marlene grumbles.

“Only if you’re _not_ using magic.” Lily adds, grinning sidelong at them.

“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Dorcas flips her hair back, hitting Marlene in the face with her dark brown locks and making the other girl laugh. Marlene leans closer to Dorcas, their hands quite close together, and Lily looks at them curiously for a moment, wondering. There’s a way that Dorcas looks at Marlene- her sharp eyes unusually soft, a smile on her face that says she’s most definitely not paying attention to Lily right now.

Like Marlene is the only thing she wants to look at right now.

Ordinarily, Lily would mentally explore this dynamic further because, when thinking deeper about it, it seems that Marlene and Dorcas _might_ have something bordering a little further than friendship with each other. Except Lily’s just learned that another one of her best friends is a werewolf, and learning that two more of them are queer would just be too much for her to handle.

They have Charms class after lunch, one of Lily’s favorites, and Flitwick teaches them the banishing charm- Depulso. She’s partnered up with none other than James Potter, and delights in sending him flying backwards across the classroom as many times as it takes. It becomes apparent that he’s going easy on her, either because she’s a girl or because he just doesn’t want to hurt her (or both, perhaps), and it takes her shouting “Bring it on, Potter!” for him to properly cast the spell.

All the breath is knocked out of her lungs as she goes sprawling backwards across the room, tripping and falling over herself into a pile of pillows. Lily can’t help but laugh at herself, she had gone down pretty hard, but Potter rushes across the room in a show of overly apologetic frivolity.

“Oh Evans, did you break anything? That was a nasty fall!” 

“I’m fine.” She tells him, waving off his proffered hand to help her up. “That was a good one.” 

“Cheers!” He beams at her and the look is so familiar that Lily’s got to remind herself that she hates him. It seems that as they’ve grown up, Potter has turned more and more immature. It’s the way he asks people questions and then talks over them before they get an answer out, the way he slides down the staircase banister of the boy’s dorms, the way he wears his shirt half untucked and sits on top of desks until professors ask him not to. 

And the way he makes Lily feel like he’s genuinely paying attention, leads her in, and then does something thoughtless and cruel. Hurts her again and again, in little ways that he doesn’t even take the time to notice, so she works on distancing herself from him as best as possible, because it’s pointless to try keeping him as a friend when he’s so insufferable. 

He goes to practice Quidditch after class ends, even though the Slytherins have reserved the pitch and he should know better. But Black follows him and Lily understands they’re probably going to get into a fight, at the very least, and is happy to join Dorcas and Marlene in the kitchens to bake their cookies for the Hufflepuff team. Lily tries to pretend she isn’t third wheeling, even though it doesn’t feel that way, but Dorcas and Marlene keep up such fast, funny conversation throughout the baking process that it’s enjoyable enough.

Despite the February weather, today is very bright. The kitchens are flooded with warmth and light, and while they shape the cookies and make the dough by hand, after they’ve been baked, Dorcas ices them with yellow and black badgers. Lily pipes the edges so they look rather professional, but Marlene frowns down at the finished products. 

“Not fun enough.” She declares, before charming the icing badgers to walk around the cookies, leaping up and down lazily and shaking out their fur like real animals. “That,” Marlene says proudly, smiling up at Dorcas, “will boost team morale.” 

“Yeahh, I reckon you’re right. Look at that- magic and muggle techniques working together in harmony! Gorgeous, innit?” Dorcas jokes while Lily and Marlene laughingly agree. Things, more or less, are better for the rest of the week. 

On Saturday evening, Lily waits for Sirius in the common room and smiles when she sees him jumping down the stairs of the boy’s dormitory, not sliding down the banister like some of his friends do. 

“Evening, Evans!”

“Lily.” She corrects him, quickly and sharply.

“Sorry.” He moves across the common room to stand in front of her, rocking up on his tiptoes before returning to the soles of his feet. Sirius is in his best impression of muggle clothes- dark trousers and a black Stooges shirt. His hair is longer than it's ever been- thick and black down past his shoulders, a sharp contrast to his pale skin and clear grey eyes.

“How’s your week been?” He asks as they walk down to Slughorn’s office. 

“Good, actually. Better than before.” Sirius glances at her with mild interest. 

“What was wrong?” Lily shrugs.

“Just… you know, the attacks on New Years’... it was a bad way to start off the year. Had me worried.”

“Oh.” Sirius seems sort of uncomfortable with this topic. “Sorry. It must be hard… I mean, it’s, yeah. I wouldn’t understand. Stuck with sympathizing.”

“It’s not something you want to understand.” Lily tells him truthfully. “You’re on the right side of things, anyways, and I’m grateful for that.” She smiles at him and he smiles back, although not with his trademark grin, but with an expression a little more hesitant. 

This party isn’t as grand or lavish as the Christmas one, but Lily still enjoys herself and sticks by Sirius the whole time, engaging him and others around the table in conversation, only having trouble avoiding the ever-watchful eyes of Severus. She feels a bit _nervous,_ honestly, because he doesn’t say anything but keeps his eyes on her for nearly the whole duration of the party. 

By the end of it, she’s eager to get away from that dark gaze, but Severus makes it even worse by approaching her after Slughorn finishes praising her for her aptitude in Potions and thanking her for her attendance. 

“Lily.” He says. Severus has this special way of saying her name, quiet and familiar, that always gets Lily remembering that they’d been best, best friends and now have grown apart in ways that resemble heartbreak and nothing except for growing up and apart. 

“Hi, Sev.”

“How are you?” 

“Good.” Sirius is laughing loudly with Edgar Bones at the moment, unaware that she’s in the middle of a painful conversation that she’d rather escape. 

“Good. Er, well. Just wanted to say hi. Goodnight, then.” And then Severus leaves. Lily stares after him feeling like she’s done something wrong. Should she call him back, apologize? What just happened? 

“Alright, Lily, shall we hit the road?” Sirius asks from beside her and Lily starts, looking back at the dark haired boy in his Stooges shirt, so out of place at a teacher’s party, but smiling easily and looking like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

Lily tries to ignore that sense of familial safety that Sirius brings with him. Pushes it aside, thinks that he’s Sirius Black, they’re just going to these parties together, and he’s almost _worse_ than Potter sometimes, and he’d hurt Mary, too, so there’s a list of excuses for her not to become friends with him. 

But he still keeps up that ever-cheerful conversation with her on the way back to the common room, and says goodnight to her before jumping back up the stairs to his dormitory- full of a never ending energy that exudes _SIRIUS BLACK_ in that fun, fearless way that mostly annoys her but sometimes, like tonight, is endearing. 

“Goodnight, Sirius!” She calls after him as he disappears into his dark dormitory.

**reg**

When Regulus had been appointed seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team, he’d been pleased and secretly happy that he didn’t play a position which required intense teamwork and planning of maneuvers. He’s bad enough at remembering facts and figures for schoolwork, so having to memorize maneuvers to play had not been high on his list of things to do. 

However, and much to his dismay, Regulus had realized that his job as a seeker meant not necessarily carrying the entire team on his shoulders but winning the match. Matches don’t end unless a seeker catches the snitch, and this pressure starts sitting uncomfortably on Regulus’s shoulders when the long awaited Hufflepuff vs Slytherin match rolls around on Sunday morning.

Emma Vanity, captain of the Slytherin team, is a sixth year who wears her hair in a ponytail so tight that Regulus wonders how she doesn’t suffer from constant migraines. She’s a chaser, and one of the most intimidating people that Regulus has ever met. 

Slytherin’s previous seeker, Brier Aurora, had been legendary for his seeking skill. He’d been so dedicated to the sport, in fact, that he’d bunked off class to such an extent that Slughorn and Madam Hooch had been forced to ban him from the team during seventh year so he would pass some of his N.E.W.Ts.

Regulus had been terrified to fill his shoes, and had heard that Aurora might end up playing professional Quidditch after his time at Hogwarts. Regulus is the youngest player on the Slytherin team (Vanity seems to be partial to older players, but he’d done so well during his tryouts (a stroke of good luck, she reminds him) that he’d made it on) and he stands small and nervous among the other players as Vanity lectures them in the changing room before the match. 

“... And Regulus, for the love of god, please just try to catch the snitch early. That’s all we ask. There’s no point in playing if you won’t catch it. We just want to make it to the semi-finals, at least. It’s all up to you.” The rest of the players turn and look at him, and Regulus pales under their gazes.

“Yeah.” He tells her. “You’ve got it.” By all accounts, this is a lie. The sun is shining brightly and Regulus swears under his breath as soon as they step out onto the pitch. Bad conditions for finding a snitch. Vanity gives him a sharp look and he mounts his broom miserably, soaring off into the sky as the Hufflepuff team scores a goal first off, a dark haired chaser shouting energetically as she whips around the hoops. Blast.

Regulus flies up high, glancing over at the Hufflepuff seeker- Matty Boot. He’s tall and blonde, a jock by all means, and smirks at him. Then he takes off. The game lasts about forty minutes- not long at all- because Regulus spends most of it sitting up on his broom and not moving, staring miserably around the pitch while the Hufflepuff chasers score mercilessly, and their beaters play a game so aggressive that Vanity is constantly screaming about fouls and gesturing for Madam Hooch to call the plays, but the referee determines their maneuvers as fair play. 

Regulus doesn’t know nearly enough about Quidditch to determine if they’d been fouls or not. He sits and squints about, occasionally trailing after Matty Boot when he gets a lead, but otherwise doing nothing worthwhile. The game comes to an incredibly unsatisfying end when Boot goes into a dizzying dive and Regulus chases him only halfheartedly, knowing that there’s no way he’ll catch up with the older boy.

The rest of the Slytherin team seem to decide that the best method of dealing with Regulus’s failure is to ignore him, but Vanity keeps him in the changing room afterwards and shouts at him so loudly that he leaves with ringing ears. He trudges miserably back up to the school, still in his house robes, even though Emma had told him that he was unfit to be wearing Slytherin colors with the pathetic job he’d done today. 

Evan and Barty don’t have much to say to comfort him, but at least he has the small comfort of not having to eat dinner alone. Unfortunately, his day gets even worse when a Black family owl swoops into the dining hall and makes for the Slytherin table, hovering low as it drops a letter neatly onto Regulus’s plate, getting smeared by sauce as he fishes it out of his dinner. 

“Fan mail for Slytherin’s greatest seeker?” Evan jokes, pressing on a sore subject as Regulus winces, frowning as he sees the letter from his older cousin Narcissa. He glances across the hall at Sirius, who’s looking straight at him with a curious expression on his face. Regulus looks away quickly, opening up the letter and reading it once over, very hastily, before folding it up and stuffing it back in the envelope, feeling decidedly ill.

“Who’s it from?” Barty asks. 

“Just my cousin.” Regulus doesn’t dare look back up at Sirius, sure that he hasn’t been told the news, and not even sure why no one told him in the first place. Sirius had always been Uncle Alphard’s favorite (Alphard hadn’t spent much time getting to know Regulus), and Regulus knows that Sirius had spent some time with him over the summer. So why hadn’t Narcissa sent a letter telling _Sirius_ about Uncle Alphard’s death, not Regulus?

“Er, I’ve gotta go.” Regulus mumbles, not hungry anymore, and having had a bad enough day that he can’t stand sitting around wallowing in his own self despair anymore. He ends up in the dark but homey Slytherin common room, thankfully empty since most everyone is at dinner, and Regulus sits down in his favorite squashy chair, gazing up at the watery green surface of the bottom of the Black Lake. 

He sees the shadowy shape of the Giant Squid drift by, its tentacles brushing gently across the glass ceiling of the common room. Minutes go by while Regulus catches his breath, and he finally unfolds the letter to read over a second time.

_Dear Regulus,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid that no one else in the family will be writing to you about this, and I felt it only right to tell you. Uncle Alphard has passed away. He was in an accident while traveling in Thailand. I think it was something to do with a motorbike, but I’m not quite sure. In any case, I was thinking of writing to Sirius about the news as well, but I feel like he might react better if he heard it from you in person. It might be more of a comfort. Once again, I’m sorry to tell you the news. I’d love to hear back from you, I regret not writing to you as much this year._

_Much love,_

_Narcissa_

Regulus groans into his hands, once again stuffing the now crumpled letter back into the envelope. Why does it have to be on him to tell Sirius the news? After a moment’s contemplation, he decides that he won’t tell him. No, the Black family disapproves of Alphard enough that they hadn’t notified him about his death, and they won’t tell Sirius. He, well, he’ll just have to find out when he finds out. 

Regulus thinks this is a fine idea, not stopping to think about the repercussions that his actions might have. He doesn’t even consider how Sirius will feel when he does find out, which he inevitably will. Regulus folds up the envelope and sighs, feeling only a small amount of relief in making the decision to leave Sirius out of the news. Oh, well. Narcissa left it up to him to make the decision, and he’s made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i messed with the timeline of alphard's death (it happened later on in canon) but don't worry, everything happens for a reason :)


	54. [YR 4] Full Moon Pills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for brief mentions of self harm, and some sorta sexual stuff during sirius's part

_ i’m a stitch away from making it, and a scar away from falling apart _

_ blood cells pixelate, and eyes dilate, and the full moon pills got me out on the street at night _

**j**

It’s the week of James’s birthday when he first sees lightning flash outside. 

He’s sitting in the library, reading about the dastardly boring history of muggle civilizations, when there’s a bright flash that lights up his brown face. James doesn’t think about it at first. He continues taking down notes on who had inhabited the Hindu Kush mountain region and then, when it flashes again, he gasps out loud- loud enough for a few other students in the library to shoot him glares. 

It’s unfortunate that this storm has been set to take place during a rare moment when he’s actually focused on his work, but he packs his stuff together and stands up so fast that he knocks over his chair, sending up a loud bang that sets Madam Pince on a beeline for him.

“Potter,” she hisses in a hoarse voice of anger, “I swear to everything holy if you make any more noise-” 

“Sorry, Irma!” He whisper-shouts back, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking backwards away from her. “Out of your hair in a mo’, here, off I go!” Once out of the library, he tears down the hallway, running as fast as he possibly can, skidding down hallways, up staircases, ignoring the portraits who shout at him to slow down. 

He shouts the password to the Fat Lady at the top of his lungs and leaps through the portrait hole like a hurdle, barely managing to clear it, and he doesn’t pause for breath as he takes the stairs two at a time, crashing into the dormitory in a breathless motion, the words on the tip of his tongue, only to find Remus sitting in the windowsill reading a book, looking at him with an expression of bored confusion.

“Moony!” James exclaims.

“Hiya.”

“Where’s Sirius? Where’s Peter?” Remus shrugs unhelpfully. 

“We need a tracking charm,” Remus mumbles before turning back to his book. He sits and stares at the page for a moment before frowning back at James. “Why do you need them?”

“No reason, really. Blast, though, mate. Damn. I’ll see you later.” James dumps his bag on the bed and bounces around the room in an overly energetic daze, but then pauses before leaving.

“Moony?”

“Hm?”

“You’re alright?” Remus looks up with more of a concrete expression on his face- a knowing half smile and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that James doesn’t see often enough anymore. Sometimes, it seems like Remus can’t shake what’s wrong- his anger, his sadness. Tonight he’s sat up here alone and although James knows he  _ wants  _ to be alone, he himself can’t imagine sitting alone in the dormitory reading a book and not feeling deserted.

“I think you’d better make the most of this lightning.” Remus tells him. James balks for a moment, feels his face heat up a bit, and then realizes that of  _ course  _ Remus picked up on what they’ve been doing. “Just be careful.” He adds, a little softer and hoarser. 

“Yeah, wow, er-” Remus cuts him off by waving him away, and James doesn’t need to be told twice. Invisibility cloak thrown over him, he sets off again through the halls at a pace only marginally slower than before. 

He’s generally unsurprised to find Sirius and Peter lining a hallway with stink pellets, and when he tells both of them about the lightning storm, they abandon their work at once and join James on their run down to the ‘magic room’ as Peter calls it- the room that appears when people are most in need of it.

They need a proper name for it, especially for mapping purposes, but tonight is not the night to sit down and discuss it. Tonight, the room has turned into a huge, empty area perfect for turning into an assortment of mysterious animals.

James doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how it felt. No, not the first time.

They stand a few paces back from each other, allowing space for whatever animal they’re to transform into. Each of them hold their vial in front of them, blood red liquid looking a dark brown in their low light. Peter’s hand is shaking but Sirius and James are steady as ever, looking at each other with even eyes, knowing that this can and will change their lives forever- and if it goes wrong, things won’t ever be the same.

But James is convinced that everything will be fine. Why wouldn’t it be? They’ve followed the steps properly, they’ve taken the necessary precautions, and they’ve ended up here where looking back has erased itself as a viable option. 

“Ready?” James asks, seeing Sirius nod sharply and Peter give a halfhearted sort of shrug. James knows that the younger boy has a plethora of doubts battling for control in his mind, but he’s the right idea not to voice them for Sirius would never let him hear the end of it. “Just stay calm, okay? Whatever happens happens. Just embrace it.” 

Neither Peter nor Sirius say anything, just look at James with solemn eyes.

“Okay.” James touches his wand tip to his chest, the way he’s done every morning and evening in front of the bathroom mirror. “Amato animo animato animagus.” Sirius and Peter join in, and they speak the words in unison. Then James’s vision goes fuzzy. It’s sort of the way he felt when falling miles off his broom second year and lost consciousness on his way to hitting the ground- blurry, strange and lightheaded. 

Heartbeat quickens, raises so fast that beads of sweat pop up on his skin, and then pain. Fiery, excruciating, burning pain and he lets out a low moan, closing his eyes against the overwhelming sensations of a feverish heart attack, wondering what he’s done to himself. In the darkness of his vision, he sees the hulking shadow of an animal. The last thing he remembers thinking is that there’s  _ antlers,  _ and then- 

Things go haywire.

James’s thoughts are muddled and inhuman but his  _ body  _ is still human, he’s still got arms and legs and when he looks over at Sirius, he nearly screams when he sees that his friend has got a shaggy black tail tearing out the back of his trousers. But James doesn’t have the words for it. He’s not coherent enough to form speech and suddenly, without much warning, his head becomes so incredibly heavy that he sinks to the floor, leaning forward and banging his head against the ground with no support to hold it up.

There’s an almighty clattering crash sound that he registers but doesn’t have the coherency to decipher. When he looks up, he can tell that there’s something attached to his head.  _ Antlers?  _ James tries to touch the top of his head, and when he does, the sensation there is once again so alarming that he does scream this time- a sound so decidedly human that the antlers disappear.

James Potter is left a human boy, fourteen years old and counting, sitting impossibly wide eyed on the floor, watching as Sirius chases his tail and Peter pulls at the huge whiskers sprouting from his face. When the other two finally lose the traits of their animagus forms, they sit in stunned silence. 

“I don’t think that’s what’s supposed to happen,” Peter offers uselessly.

“We’re only in fourth year.” James explains croakily. He’s never experienced a sensation as mad as being half transformed into an animagus, and isn’t exactly keen on going through it over again. “We’ll keep practicing, yeah? Get it right?” 

“Yeah, of bloody course we’ll keep practicing!” Sirius cheers. “I mean, look at us! You got antlers, I got a tail, and I suppose I should just take my trousers off every time now-” James laughs, “but lads, honestly! This is excellent progress! We should be proud of ourselves!” 

“Right…” Peter mumbles quietly. Sirius ignores him, clapping both James and Peter on the shoulders. 

“Suit yourself, but I’m dead pleased. And what’s that animal you’ve got, Peter? A hamster?”

**r**

James’s fifteenth birthday is the same day as the full moon in March, and Remus spends the 27th trailing around after his friends, feeling like he’s going to lose consciousness. He’s been overheating since he woke up, and has sweated through the white shirt under his jumper to such an extent that it’s begun to stick to his hot skin. 

He can barely keep himself upright during classes, but drags himself to dinner because he’s assuming James will want him there to spend time with him. Sirius had woken James up with a cream pie to the face, and Peter had joined in for the fifteen birthday punches while James tried to fight them off, looking like a ghost who’d been caught out in the sun and had started to melt. 

James believes in celebrations, but Remus isn’t too sad about missing his party. Maybe for the liquor and seeing his friends make fools of themselves, but him and Marlene have been off ever since the fight before winter break, and the thought of being at a party without getting to dance with her just doesn’t seem fair. He misses her more than he’d care to admit, but doesn’t know how to properly make up with her. Remus is permanently bad at making things better.

Dinnertime is a sickening occasion, and he sits while nauseously listening to Marlene talk to Katie Robinson (joining their table for the night) and James about Quidditch, of course, which is making him feel even more ill. Marlene sits next to him, her thigh pressing against his, and Sirius is on his other side, gossipping loudly with Lily, Mary, and Peter. 

While Peter and Mary get into a rowdy back and forth, Sirius glances over in Remus’s direction.

“Have something to eat, Moony?”

“I dunno if that’s a good idea.” Remus croaks. Sirius scoffs and spoons some boiled carrots onto his plate, and puts a roll next to them.

“At least try.” Remus does try. He forces down the carrots and bread, literally choking on it as it goes down, and then sits for about five minutes before knowing that he’d made a grave mistake. Instead of turning to his left to go to Marlene for help and comfort, he instead leans to his right, shoulder knocking against Sirius’s, who looks at him with uncommonly severe concern.

“I’m fit to be sick,” Remus whispers, trying to ignore Lily’s knowing and concerned expression.

“Are you?” Sirius asks. “Well, come on-” He stands up in alarm when Remus makes a choked retching noise, clamping his hands over his mouth. 

“Remus, are you alright?” Mary asks distractedly as Remus is dragged out of the bench, Sirius’s arm tight around his shoulders. 

“He’s ill, MacDonald, nothing to fret about, I’ll see you tonight for the party!” Sirius’s sentence gets louder and he throws the last of it over his shoulder while briskly walking Remus out of the hall. There’s vomit rising in his throat and he can barely walk, leaning heavily into Sirius as he’s steered towards the bathrooms. Once inside, Sirius lets him go and Remus collapses in the nearest stall, retching violently into the toilet to clear out the small amount of food he’d eaten today.

“Oh, Merlin, sorry…” Sirius drags out the “y”, making it sound like he’s still in a too-happy mood for what’s taking place before his eyes. Remus retches again, spitting loudly into the toilet, hamming it up a little.

“Told you it was a bad idea, but it was probably the Quidditch talk that did it.” Remus groans, sitting back against the tiled wall. His head is spinning and there’s hot, smelly sick on his chin. He wipes it off with the sleeve of his jumper and then takes the jumper off, not even having the heart to be embarrassed about the fact that he’s drenched in sweat.

“Guess you were right. Have you finished?” Sirius steps over his crumpled form and flushes the toilet, then squats down beside him. “Should I take you to the hospital wing?”

“Give me a mo’.” Remus sighs heavily and hugs himself, fingers tensing up at the wet material of his shirt. “Fuck.” 

“Budge over!” Sirius tells him, sitting down between him and the stall door, bumping his hip against Remus’s. 

“I’m all sweaty and smelly,” Remus protests, moving away from Sirius, bringing his knees up and resting his head between them to try alleviating the nausea. “Tell James I’m sorry, yeah?”

“Don’t be sorry.” Sirius tells him gently. “I’ll save you some whiskey.”

“Cheers.”

“And some cake?”

“Nah, I’ll be ill all day tomorrow anyways.” 

“Ah, too bad. I’ll come visit.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Can’t have you being alone!”

“Move, I’m gonna be sick again-” Sirius flattens himself against the wall as Remus crawls over him to throw up nothing but stomach acid and spit. “Aargh!” He gives another final heave and then sits back heavily, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt while Sirius eyes him curiously. 

“Last of it?” He asks. 

“Never ends, does it?” Remus admits, undoing some of the top buttons of his shirt. Sirius glances down at his arms and Remus looks down too, taking in the sight of plasters over fresh cuts. 

He swallows and looks up at Sirius, sitting right next to him, close enough to touch. Remus absently touches one of the plasters and looks down at older scars, red then pink then white. He doesn’t cut so much on his wrists, just sometimes when he’s desperate, and the ones on his shoulders and thighs are much worse. 

“You alright?” Sirius asks, and Remus nods, moving to roll his sleeves back down. “Oh, don’t, it’s fine. I’m not James, Moony, no worries.” Remus smiles shakily at him and leans his head on Sirius’s shoulder, feeling the other boy first tense then relax into the gesture. It’s a strange place for the two of them to be- crammed into a bathroom stall in between the toilet and the door. Sirius leans his own head back on top of Remus’s own, and that comfortable warmth is enough that Remus thinks he’d rather spend the night here than puking in the hospital wing.

“As long as you’re safe, Moony.” Remus pauses and then sighs heavily. 

“I can’t promise it.” Sirius doesn’t reply to that, and flickers his hand so gently over Remus’s before putting it back in his own lap. 

“Okay.” They sit a while longer before a cramping ache overtakes Remus, and he puts his head in his hands while swallowing down more sick, feeling decidedly on the verge of something awful. He knows that Sirius has glanced over at him again, but he’s got no words for the pain in his stomach is so acute and awful. The pain subsides a small amount, enough for him to get his words out, and all Remus can do is wheeze that he thinks he should go to the hospital wing now.

Remus can barely walk there, and Sirius keeps his strong arm circled tight around him to keep him upright. The rest of the evening is spent throwing up in the hospital wing until he’s weak enough to consider death as his next best option. 

Once in the Shrieking Shack, having barely managed to keep himself upright on the walk down, Remus doesn’t even have the energy to take off his clothes. He lies on the bed and lets the transformation take him. Is so tired that he wakes up in the hospital wing the next evening, a whole day gone without him, but he feels surprisingly okay after a night spent as a wolf.

Remus draws the curtains back on his bed and is surprised first by the quality of light- hazy and dark, it’s dusk- and second by the redheaded girl sitting in the bed next to him.

“Hello!” Third year Julie Blackstone says cheerily. “I was wondering who was behind that curtain!”

“Just me.” Remus mumbles weakly, pushing himself up in bed. He’s so bleary that he nearly asks her ‘s’mae?’, all Welsh and confused about where he is. “How’re you?” Julie sticks out her tongue and smiles cheekily; Remus feels ill when he sees her tongue has been transfigured into that of a flickering snake’s. She rolls up the sleeve of her hospital robes, and Remus sees that her skin, while still freckled and pale, has the consistency of scales.

“How’d you do that?”

“Got hexed. Ran my mouth. What about you?”

“Just ill.” He responds shakily. 

“Too bad. Pomfrey said this’ll wear off by tomorrow, but it’s been quite lonely trying to plan my revenge with no one else to talk to. I was wondering where you’ve been this year. Well, I heard about the fighting. With Alan Smith? That was loaded.”

“Was it?” Remus can’t keep up with Julie’s fast talking pace, but tries to mentally remember what topics she’s on. 

“Yeah! I didn’t know what he did, but I was on your side. You got him properly with that jinx!”

“Thanks?”

“I was thinking of transfiguring her back, you know. What’s an animal I could curse her into?” Remus assumes that the  _ her  _ is whoever tried in vain to turn Julie into a snake. 

“Erm,” he says weakly, “a baboon?” He offers- thinking blankly of the first creature to come to mind that isn’t a wolf. Julie stares at him for a moment, eyes bright behind her horn rimmed glasses, and then bursts out laughing. Remus pauses for a moment before joining in the laughter- thinking about how ridiculous it sounds.

“Yes, Lupin! Perfect!” Julie says through laughter, her face red and eyes crinkled in a smile. “Do you really know how?” Remus’s own giggles die out as he sits up straighter in bed, thinking about it. James is perfectly ace at Transfiguration, and there’s always those old stores of Polyjuice Potion they made…

“Yeah,” he tells Julie, secretly relishing in that awed look on her face. “I can probably do it. And a little better than the halfway job she got with you.” 

**s**

It starts during Quidditch practice, where the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors sometimes have pickup matches together. They’re the teams who get along best, somehow. Sirius would enjoy playing against the Hufflepuff team in practice, but they’re in a neck and neck battle for number one, and Izzy wouldn’t even momentarily consider facing off against them for fear that every tactic the Gryffindor team used would be plotted against accordingly in a proper house match. 

At first, Sirius doesn’t see so much of Benjy. He’s a chaser- working on complicated maneuvers while Sirius and Ravenclaw keeper Melissa Rubble, now their team captain, practice keeping tactics while Nate Neary and Katie Robinson try to score on them. 

Sirius remains vigilant for those first few practices- cheeks flushed red with the bite of wind against it, weighed down by his keeper gear, tethered to a broomstick and robes billowing behind him like truly, properly, this is where he belongs.

And then Benjy Fenwick changes everything- though you could more or less call it ruining the experience. He’s  _ flirting.  _ Sirius is oblivious at first, not noticing the looks that the Ravenclaw boy sends his way, or the way he hangs about in the changing rooms afterwards to walk back up to the castle with James and Sirius.

Benjy had been trying to keep it casual, that’s for sure, but it’s after a straining Transfiguration lesson at the end of the day that he grabs Sirius by his tie and drags him into a closet in the hallway outside. It happens so fast that Sirius is first disoriented by what happened, and then realizes that handsome, punk, cool Benjy Fenwick has his hands on his red and gold striped tie and is so close that Sirius can smell the peppermint on his breath. 

“Er, Fenwick-” And then Benjy kisses him, hot and wet like he’s been waiting for this for  _ ages,  _ and Sirius lets out a surprised “mmph!” before promptly thinking  _ fuck it,  _ and kissing back. He’s kissed girls before- briefly and quickly, like it was a handshake or business transaction, but he’s never had a proper snog with anyone and Benjy Fenwick, admittedly, isn’t the worst person Sirius could end up getting hot and heavy in a closet with.

Benjy pulls him closer by the end of his tie and Sirius runs his hands through the short, spiky shaved sides of Benjy’s black hair. Benjy kisses hard and Sirius lets him, lets him push him back against the door and move his tongue into his mouth, lips wet and hot, slicked with spit. Sirius gets lost in it, closes his eyes and moves his lips instinctively, hoping he’s doing it right, hoping Benjy’s having as much fun as he is, and then, as soon as the kiss begins, it ends. 

Benjy pulls back, wipes his mouth and pants a bit, turns his head to the side so Sirius can see the curve of his jaw and see the silver earrings dangling from his lobes, looking flashy and sharp under his jagged, shaved hair. 

“Jesus Christ.” He says coherently, turning back to look at Sirius, whose stomach is absolutely in knots because of this whole affair, and can’t keep his eyes off of Benjy’s smooth skin, angular dark eyes, that shit-eating grin that sings of mischief and laughter. 

“Merlin,” Sirius breathes, “I had no idea.”

“You had no idea? After the Quidditch matches last year? And swimming in the lake?” Sirius flushes, not knowing that Benjy had seen the look on his face while staring at his shirtless body dripping silvery water in the moonlight. 

“I just- I don’t…” Sirius Black has found himself at an almighty rare low- being at a loss for words. “Erm, what now?”

“We do it again sometime?” Benjy cocks his head, grinning, and Sirius stares at him in a dumbstruck daze. “I’ve got practice tonight, what about afterwards? You free?”

“Uh-huh?” It comes out as a high pitched question. “Yeah, er.” Sirius clears his throat, coughs. “Yes.” Benjy smiles at him. Sirius feels a bubbly, uncontainable sort of happiness in his stomach. 

“Meet me by the Ravenclaw common room. I know a place. See ya!” Benjy opens the door of the closet and nearly skips out, shutting the door on Sirius and leaving him flushed face in the darkness, in desperate need of a wank and, above all, coming to frank terms with his sexuality. It had all happened so bloody  _ fast.  _ And here he is- officially queer, just been snogged into next week with plans to do it again tonight, wondering how the hell this has happened to him.

Heir of the Black family, Gryffindor’s fourth year absolute Adonis, broken down to a lovesick gay boy just from one interaction with Benjy fucking Fenwick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> both sorry & not sorry about the sirius x benjy situation. sorry bc it isn't wolfstar, not sorry because realistically, both sirius & remus had other flings + relationships before getting together.


	55. [YR 4] Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for self harm during remus's chapter
> 
> as it happens, it seems that all of us (writers and readers alike) love the 1975 and i can't stop relating their lyrics to this story. and no i'm not sorry! lyrics are from 'the birthday party'.

_ i depend on my friends to stay clean, as sad as it seems  _

**s**

A stroke of new awakenings combined with genius strikes Sirius during the spring of his fourth year, in 1975. 

Most of it probably comes from a clearheadedness associated with being caught up in what can only be described as a ‘fling’ with Benjy Fenwick. Sirius spends many evenings waiting around outside the Ravenclaw common room or panting with lowered eyelids in a dark closet, hands and lips busy with warm boy parts- permanently in a distracted, properly good mood because of this dastardly thing that Benjy has done to him.

The thing is, Sirius has spent a good amount of fourth year trying to keep his mind off of the one big distraction that always seems to exist as an impossible option in his life: Remus Lupin. Straight, moody, funny, problematic Remus who Sirius has grown so attached to in friendship that he knows this stupid crush on him is essentially the same as having a crush on James. In other words: never going to happen. 

And Sirius gets an oddly similar vibe from Benjy that he does from Remus- a bad boy attitude, a bright burn of mischief in his eyes, an infectious laugh and a face that Sirius could stare at for hours if given the chance. 

Benjy, in his own way, is a seperate relief from Remus because he doesn’t cut up his wrists and get Sirius worrying about him, and he plays Quidditch and has got similar music taste to Sirius, and they can discuss anything and everything for hours, and if he isn’t Welsh and doesn’t wear jumpers or smoke Woodbines cigarettes, then who is Sirius to complain? What’s that people say about settling for next best?

He keeps his secret fling just that, secret, and finds himself rather busy during April as he juggles Quidditch practices, assorted detentions, dark nights sneaking around with Benjy, and planning how to prank the next Slug Club meeting. 

Sirius had attended the monthly meetings ever since the Christmas party and had been having a rather nice time of it, if he’s being honest with himself. There’s no pesky younger students (although to the older ones, him and Lily  _ are _ the pesky young ones) and he gets to have some time away from the marauders. It’s not as though he doesn’t like them, they’re his best mates, but spending every waking moment with them can get old after a while. 

Still, there’s the nagging reminder that he’s got to pull a prank on the club sooner or later, and the excitement of new beginnings in springtime leads him to having a long sit down with Remus, thinking of the many wonderful pranks he could play, each one more insane and brilliant than the last.

“Would poison be a step too far?” Sirius asks, handing the cigarette he’s been sharing with Remus back to the other boy. They’re sitting in the now familiar Astronomy tower. It’s a cloudy night, but warm enough, and the smell of cigarette smoke hovers around them instead of being carried away by a sharp breeze. Sirius knows his clothes will smell of it once they get back into the dormitory, but he doesn’t mind at all, for the smell of Remus is enough of a comfort that he needn’t worry about others knowing he smokes.

Which is cool, in itself. Sirius doesn’t smoke like Remus does- three or four fags a day- and only partakes during their escapades up to the tower, which had taken place nearly every night before winter break, and now are few and far between, maybe once a week or less. 

Remus considers Sirius’s question, taking a deep pull on the cigarette and tilting his head back casually to blow smoke out in a jet over the tower. “Yes.” He responds finally, languidly. Then, a beat later: “What kind of poison?”

“Nothing bad. My dream would be Veritaserum-” Remus laughs at this, shakes his head while blowing smoke, makes Sirius’s heart ache with love, “-but I mean  _ christ,  _ me trying to brew that would be a sorry state.”

“Too right.”

“I’d just kill everybody. Too bad you haven’t Snivellus to make all your complex potions for you anymore.” Remus just frowns at that, flicking the ash off the edge of the fag. Sirius hadn’t meant to turn him serious and moves away from the topic. “What else could I do?”

“Maybe poison is the wrong direction, it feels a bit medieval. Non consensual, whatever,” Remus muses. “You would feel bad about it.”

“Probably.”

“Most likely.”

“Okay, so what have you got?” Remus finishes off the cigarette, blowing smoke, his face disappearing momentarily in a haze of washed out, nicotine grey. He’s got his thoughtful, plotting face on- quirked lips and contemplative eyes. Sirius watches Remus in that brief silence, looks at the newest scar on his face that cuts through his eyebrow and especially at the one on his jaw that he always rubs when he’s nervous.

“Alright,” Remus begins, “this is sort of… childish.” Sirius scoffs.

“When has that ever stopped us?”

“Fair point. What if we, like, strung up buckets of… something, over Slughorn’s office? So everyone leaving would get splashed by whatever’s inside?” Remus pauses after putting the idea out into the world and frowns again. “Or maybe it’s stupid.”

“No.” Sirius says it very quickly, already latching onto the idea and thinking about where he could take it. “No, that would be a laugh. What would we put in them?”

“Slime,” Remus tells him simply, as though he’s considered this idea before. “But self adhesive.”

“Self adhesive slime!?” Sirius starts laughing and Remus joins in, scars stretched widely on his face as he smiles. 

“Yeah, it’s muggle stuff. You can mix corn starch, water, and glue, and you get a bunch of slime. We can charm it to stick, though, so it won’t come off people’s clothes for a while.” It  _ is  _ a childish idea but the mental image of Severus, Slughorn, and assorted other members of the club dripping in sticky slime upended from buckets set up by Sirius himself is reason enough for him to go through with the prank. 

Remus is the one who joins in to help, in the end, because James has fallen prey to Izzy’s daily Quidditch practices that Sirius is all too happy to bunk off. He’s always had an issue with commitment and only ends up attending practice during the weeks of matches and when he feels like it, not like James, who considers Quidditch his main priority. 

Before the meeting on a Saturday night in mid-April, Sirius and Remus string up buckets of slime that they’ve dyed green if only for the comedic effect. Remus had cast both sticking and animation charms on the slime, and it shifts unhappily in the buckets. 

“It’ll crawl all over whoever gets it on them, maybe go up their noses, if we’re lucky.” Remus had explained while Sirius lugged the buckets down outside Slughorn’s office. “Best of luck to you.” Sirius had spent the night trying to act as casual as possible, getting as tipsy as usual on Slughorn’s proffered glasses of sherry and laughing out loud when the club was requested to sit down for a photo. 

Sirius stands beside Lily and holds up his glass of sherry with the rest of the students, grinning jauntily at the camera, chin up, eyes sparkling with mischief. After the photo-taking, Sirius makes it his mission to escape the meeting earlier than usual, and convinces Lily to come with him.

“I’ve got to show you something.” He whispers to her while Slughorn laments on a story about being invited to attend the funeral of Wilhemina Tuft, the former Minister for Magic. People have descended into talk of politics and the current Minister- Eugenia Jenkins.

“What is it?” Lily whispers back. She’s clearly bored by the discussion, not knowing much about wizarding politics, and unable to participate in the conversation.

“You’ll see. Come on, we’ve got to go.” Sirius stands up and they say a fast goodbye before making their departure; it seems that the rest of the club is either engaged in the discussion or inebriated enough to sit through it. 

Once in the quiet, cool hallway, Lily looks around expectantly.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re waiting.”

“For what?” Sirius smiles, winks at her.

“You’ll see.”

“Sirius, is this is one of your stupid pranks…” Lily looks at him disappointedly, sort of wary, and Sirius just gives her an open expression.

“And if it is? You can go back in, or go back to the common room. Don’t stay on my account.” Lily huffs but sits down next to him, her face twisted in an embarrassed smile when he knocks his shoulder against hers. It takes about twenty minutes for the meeting to adjourn, and when it does, Sirius climbs slowly to his feet while Lily hovers nervously behind him, quiet but cautious.

Sirius watches as students gather outside of the classroom, exactly where they should be, and Slughorn himself stands in the doorway while saying goodnight to them. Sirius whispers “Locomotor” quietly enough for only Lily to hear, and he sees her hold her hands over her mouth while the buckets come crashing down onto the unfortunate crowd. 

Sirius watches in spirited amazement as Slughorn lets out a confused shout and leans back against the wall next to Lily while their fellow club members shriek and yell as the nauseating greenish slime starts crawling over their bodies.

“It’s pulling my hair!” Roselyn Shull squeals.

“It’s in my ears!” Sorrel Avery bellows.

“Mmmpphh!” Matty Boot enunciates, clawing at his tongue with both hands as the slime makes its way into his mouth. Sirius is tearing up at this point, his body shaking with silent laughter, while Lily watches in apparent horror, hands still held over her mouth in shock. Sirius slides back down to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest as he laughs, watching the chaotic scene take place in front of him. Lily finally moves, first looking down at Sirius essentially rolling on the floor with laughter, and then at Roselyn Shull- whose hair is being pulled into mohawk-like spikes by the apparently dedicated slime. 

“Roselyn- what happened?” Lily calls, rushing down the hallway as though she hadn’t watched the whole thing take place. “How can I help?” 

“Get this shit out of my hair!” Roselyn wails while Lily casts a scouring charm on her. Sirius only watches momentarily, having seen enough to be able to look back on the prank and laugh his head off for weeks to come, but he’s apprehended by none other than Severus Snape.

“Black!” Snape calls, pointing down the hall to where Sirius had been doing his best to hide in the shadows. “Professor, he’s there, he did it!” Slughorn rounds on Sirius, who is cloakless and would feel worse about everything if he turned tail and ran. The only thing he can think to say to make the night any better is telling Snape that he looks slimier than usual.

**r**

At first, the news about Sirius’s prank and his subsequent banishing and forbiddance from the Slug Club is passed around the school, much to Sirius’s delight. He loves the attention and addresses the rumors when they’re brought up to him with casual elegance that’s sort of endearing and sort of annoying, but not enough for Remus to take any real issue with it. 

This type of gossip is a fine kind, a good kind, something better than hearing about attacks on muggles outside of school, or relationship drama that’s become sickening to Remus at this point. However, the rumor mill of Hogwarts can’t remain generally positive forever, and it’s on a tired Thursday morning when Remus enters the Great Hall to hear countless whispers and low-voiced conversations humming in the hall.

“You reckon something’s happened?” James asks Remus and Peter as they sit down at the table. Remus is still sleepy and leans his elbows on the table, not in the mood for more bad news, and just grateful that he’s not the subject to all the gossipping. To Remus, the height of discomfort would come from entering the Great Hall and knowing that his name is the one on everyone’s lips.

Sirius might get a kick out of being the center of attention, but Remus feels better off with his name kept out of people’s mouths rather than in it. Today, the name floating around is Davey Gudgeon. 

Mary strides into the hall very purposefully, Lily and Marlene a little ways behind her, and sits down with great gusto across from the three boys.

“Did you hear what happened?” She asks.

“Do tell,” Peter encourages, leaning in with his chin cupped in his hand, looking all too girly and ready for the storm of gossip to descend. 

“Davey Gudgeon went out by the Whomping Willow last night on a dare and got his eye taken out by the branches.” Remus, who had been paying less than studious attention, now feels rather ill. He stares down at his toast, smeared with red jam, and sees a sickening parallel between what might have been left of Davey’s eye. He pushes the plate away and swallows down the nauseating lump in his throat. 

“Great Godric, did he really?” Prompts James.

“Yeah, Danny told me all about it.” So that’s where Mary got the gossip, from her Slytherin boyfriend. “They were playing a game of dares and it got out of hand…”

“I’ll say.” Lily mumbles, looking rather pale.

“I don’t understand why the tree’s there in the first place.” Marlene puts in. She’s sat down next to Remus as usual (it would be too big a leap in their relationship to wordlessly stop sitting next to him, although they hardly talk these days) and he turns his face away from her, feeling painful, acute waves of shame crash over him. 

“Didn’t Dumbledore mention it in his speech at the start of first year?” Lily asks. “He said it was a new addition to the grounds, some rare species.”

“Maybe it’s something to do with the Shrieking Shack?” Mary offers. 

“Or maybe Kettleburn or Sprout just wanted some new species to study.” James tells them, trying to move the discussion away from the unspoken fact that Remus is the whole reason the tree had been planted, to make sure that no one got in or out of the Shrieking Shack while he turned into a werewolf. 

“Well, they’ve got to get rid of it now, haven’t they?” Marlene looks thoughtful and Mary nods as though this makes perfect sense. “Won’t Gudgeon’s parents make a fuss if it stays?”

“Probably.” Mary tells her. “I don’t see why else they’d keep it.” Remus closes his eyes and is greatly relieved when James stands up, having bolted down the rest of his food.

“Remus, I had to ask Slughorn some questions before class, want to come?”

“Yeah,” Remus croaks in response, slinging his bag over his shoulder and ignoring Marlene’s worried eyes as James pats him on the shoulder, almost guiding him out of the Great Hall. Peter thankfully doesn’t follow- Mary’s locked him in a conversation- and Remus breathes out heavily once the pressure of the table is behind him.

“You okay?” James asks, and Remus just shakes his head, keeps walking even though his leg is still stiff from sleep and turns his gait into a jerky limp.

“It’s my fault.” He tells James gruffly. “He lost an  _ eye,  _ James, and it’s my fault.”

“Uh-” James begins haughtily- “no. Absolutely not. Dumbledore tells us every year to stay away from the Willow because things like this will happen. He went out on a dare, and he’d been warned about it!”

“There’d be no need for warnings in the first place if I weren’t here!” Remus regrets the words as soon as he speaks them, and he sees James’s face turn immediately concerned. So he backtracks. “I mean, if I weren’t here, at Hogwarts, you know, not like  _ dead,  _ or anything-”

“Moony, you can’t blame yourself, it’s like blaming whoever invented the car for people getting in auto accidents!” Remus stammers, spluttering, thinking of how that comparison is off the cuff and generally, wildly inaccurate. “Or blaming Dumbledore for putting the tree there!”

“He put it there for me!” James looks tired of the argument already. 

“This isn’t  _ about  _ you, Moony, the whole situation’s got nothing to do with you-” 

“Don’t call me that, for god’s sake, just stop with it all! I’ll see you in class, I need a fag, I just can’t right now.” James doesn’t go after him and Remus limps down the hall, knowing how pathetic he looks trying to be cross when one of his legs won’t work right. He turns the corner, away from James’s watchful eyes, and thinks he’s unreasonably angry and needs to calm down, like Lily had told him, like Lily had told him that people were afraid of him. 

Because being called ‘Moony’ is a constant reminder that he’s a werewolf, and that people  _ should  _ be afraid of him. Remus storms into a bathroom, locks himself in the stall, and fumbles with his packet of cigarettes before lighting one up. One moment of peace, that’s all Remus gets. The nicotine rush that comes with the first pull on a fag, the anxiety in his stomach shrouded in a warm cloud of smoke. Things are okay for a moment.

Then the mirror starts screaming.

“Put out that disgusting cigarette, boy! Put it out  _ now!  _ Stinking up the bathroom, filling the air with  _ acrid  _ smoke, polluting your lungs-”

“Alright already!” Remus shouts through the door of the stall, throwing the perfectly good cigarette into the toilet to snuff it out. He’d forgotten about the new charm placed on bathroom mirrors, preventing students from smoking up in the restrooms. Flitwick had charmed them all during the start of fourth year, probably because cigarettes have become suspiciously common around the school (most likely due to Caradoc Dearborn returning from summer holidays with a fully stocked supply to sell) and Remus had made do with smoking in the dorms or outside.

Until now.

He’s still shaken about the whole argument with James and upset enough to dig his pocket knife out of his bag and rolls up his sleeves without much thought, feeling the tight knot in his throat start to relax as his arms flush red with sticky, warm blood. Remus administers a few deep cuts to his forearms and only stops when he realizes he’s caught his breath again. 

Pocket knife back in the bag, toilet paper blooming red when held against the fresh wounds, a few spare plasters from the bottom of his bag pressed against the still-bleeding cuts, much too deep for a few plasters to fix. Remus doesn’t want to heal them just yet, though. He wants to hurt for a little longer. 

A little longer ends up being the rest of the day. The sickly wet feeling on his arms as the day goes on is enough for him to know that the cuts haven’t scabbed up yet, but he’s wearing a shirt, a jumper, and his black robes so he’s sure enough that the blood won’t soak through three layers of fabric. 

Still, mentally, Remus is in a better place by dinnertime, where Dumbledore promptly ruins his mood all over again. The headmaster stands up at his owl-adorned pedestal and all four tables fall silent, obviously awaiting news about the incident that had taken place yesterday. 

“Last night,” Dumbledore begins as Remus feels the twisting, sickening knot of anxiety wear its way back into his stomach, “an incident took place involving the Whomping Willow. This tree has been planted on the Hogwarts grounds for necessary reasons, and will remain here. Once planted, these trees are nearly impossible to uproot or remove.” A chorus of whispers goes up between the students and Remus looks down at his plate, biting his lip. 

Sirius is glancing at him from where he’s sat a few places down the table, and Remus can’t see James but knows he must be watching him too. Remus works his hands up his sleeve to pick at the fresh cuts, trying to get some relief out of the stinging pain. 

“I have warned all of you many times to stay away from the Whomping Willow,” Dumbledore continues, “and the consequences for approaching it are often dire. This tree is violent. No dare or prank is worth getting gravely injured for. Please remember that there is no punishment like that of Mother Nature. I hope this will have taught us all to follow instructions given by staff, and to be thoughtful about our own actions.” When Remus slides his hand out of his sleeve, his fingers are wet and shiny with blood. 

After dinner, both Sirius and James try to engage Remus in some sort of comforting conversation, but Remus doesn’t even want to talk to Sirius about this, not if James has sent him on some mission of false encouragement, which is never Sirius’s style. Remus locks himself in the dormitory bathroom and does even more damage to his arms- not even caring if the dark red scabbed scars will be visible. 

His forearm runs red with the deep, jagged cuts in his skin and then to add insult to injury, Remus takes a hot shower that cleans the wounds, turns the water red, and leave him in such a state because of how bad the stinging pain is, he makes an impulsive decision upon leaving the bathroom.

Sirius has left, most likely for detention. James and Peter are frowning down at the map they’ve continued to work on and perfect, comparing hastily scrawled diagrams of locations in the school to work up on the final draft which lays splayed out in front of them, and both boys look up expectantly at Remus as he exits the bathroom.

“Peter,” he says, already feeling regretful for opening his mouth, “could you work on that in the common room? I need to talk to James for a few minutes.” Peter looks at Remus, then at James, then at the map, then back to Remus.

“Sure.”

“Cheers.” James sits up and doesn’t even glance at Peter as he leaves, just keeps his dark eyes on Remus who slowly and jerkily sits down on the floor next to him, in the space Peter had left. Remus produces the pocket knife from where he’s been holding it balled up in his fist and hands it to James, who looks surprised.

“I need you to keep it.” Remus tells him. “Forever. Use it, toss it, I don’t care.” James rolls the knife back and forth between his hands. “I can’t-” He breaks off, finding himself surprisingly choked up. James looks up, face so worried that it makes Remus feel even more miserable. “I can’t stop.”

James hesitates for a moment, not knowing what to say. “Not having this will help?” Remus nods. There’s something necessarily silent about his pain, and casting Diffindo up and down his arms would give away that secret, heavy silence behind it all. 

“Well, that’s a start. I didn’t…” James trails off, runs a hand back through his untidy hair, and continues. “I didn’t realize you were still at it.” Remus shrugs.

“Not all the time, but sometimes. I can’t help it, sometimes.” James twists his face nervously, eyes flickering over Remus’s forearms, hidden beneath a jumper. “I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier.”

“You’re alright.” James clears his throat. “You don’t want us calling you Moony anymore?” Christ, Remus had forgotten about that. 

“No, sorry, that was impulse. Moony’s fine. I just didn’t need to be reminded, right then.”

“Oh.” James finally seems to understand the issue. “Right, mate, I’m sorry, then.”

“You’re alright.” Remus echoes, giving James a weak smile that’s returned tenfold. “Shall I go get Peter back?”

“Sure,” James says, leaning back in a casual way and breaking the solemn moment between them. “But Remus, first- just. I’m glad you came to me, yeah? You know I’ve always got your back.” Remus nods and knows it to be true, believes that James will always be there for him after a useless breakdown, and still he pretends not to feel a pang of hopeless, lost longing as James slips the pocket knife into his own pocket.

Once Sion’s, then Remus’s, now James’s. 


	56. [YR 4] Smile Through the Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello from college! it's my first night here & i am very sad and lonely lol. currently writing some future angst to make myself feel better and no it's not working so i'll get back to you about that. enjoy this chapter though, i really really love marlene's part! 
> 
> lyrics from 'andria' by la dispute. (some of my fave lyrics ever <3)

_ if i can’t love you as a lover, i will love you as a friend _

_ and i will lay a bed before you, keep you safe until the end  _

**m**

It’s before Quidditch practice, when Marlene and Gideon Prewett are hanging about in the common room, shooting the breeze. Marlene likes Gideon and not just because he’s an excellent beater to fly by her side, but because he can keep up in conversation and never fails to make her laugh. 

He’d been telling a story while keeping her laughing into stitches and then mentioned being high, which had gotten Marlene curious and bugging him for more information.

“High on what?” Gideon grins, mimes zipping his lips and throwing out the key. “Come on, Gid, I won’t tell anyone!” 

“Weed, of course.” He shoots back easily, like a secret is nothing if not for something to tell and she’s stupid for not having guessed. 

“How’d you get it?” Gideon smiles, freckled face bright in the warm spring light of the common room, and raises his eyebrows while jerking his chin at the same time. Marlene spins around in her chair, searching for whoever he’d implicated wordlessly, and frowns when the only people in her view are Alice Fortescue and one of her friends. 

“Alice?” She asks Gideon, turning back around. He shrugs his shoulders but she takes it as a yes, and then turns around once more to look at the brunette. Alice used to have very long brown hair, but kept it tied up for the most part, and had cut it down to around her shoulders recently. It frames her sharp face, and Marlene watches her laugh in conversation. She turns around again, facing Gideon, who watches her with raised eyebrows.

“You’re telling me  _ Alice  _ is your drug dealer?” 

“Like you’re surprised?” Marlene, in turn, realizes that she isn’t necessarily surprised at all. Alice is known for being rebellious, although her acts of revolution have fizzled out as she’s grown older, and now in her last year at Hogwarts seems to have calmed down through the use of cannabis and thoughts of the not-so-distant future. 

“Would she sell to me?” Marlene asks eagerly, blushing when Gideon laughs out loud. 

“You’re a fourth year!”

“Only two years younger than you! Plus, I don’t even have O.W.L.s this year so it can’t rot my brain just yet. Would you ask her for me?” Gideon’s probably still just messing with her and puts on a fake thinking face, obviously contemplating if she’s worth it. “Please?” She adds, putting on her best pouting face, and Gideon sighs.

“It doesn’t even rot your brain.” He mumbles and Marlene laughs again, though she does consider herself unsure about what weed actually does or doesn’t do to a brain. “I’ll ask her, okay?”

“Thanks, Gid.” Marlene isn’t even sure why she wants the weed in the first place, something to do with wanting to be as cool as the older students who smoke spliffs and then get all giggly, or maybe because she’s missing Remus and wants to impress him. As Quidditch season has picked up and revision period is drawing nearer, she’s felt more and more detached from him. He has his own issues to work out, and she’d prefer them not to be related to her, because she’s had enough of fighting with him.

Except when they’re not fighting, they’re so good. Marlene’s not keen on ending fourth year with this distance still gaping between them, and is grateful to Alice Fortescue for unintentionally bringing them back together. 

Marlene had been sitting in the common room with her head in an Arithmancy book, in a state of blissful concentration. She’d just finished a strenuous Quidditch practice and had been happy to have some time to herself, just to sit and study in silence, and she’d first been annoyed when a generally unfamiliar voice had drawled- “Marlene McKinnon, what a surprise!” 

Alice had been standing over her with a sort of wicked smile on her face, and then sat down at her table. 

“Hi, Alice.” Marlene marks her page in the book and looks at the older girl.

“Gideon told me you were in need of some weed.” Alice explains easily before removing a plastic baggie from her pocket and dropping it on Marlene’s textbook. The bag is filled with dark green bud, and Marlene nearly gasps before stuffing it into her pocket, already aware of the warm, skunky scent radiating from the bag. 

“Wow, cheers! I don’t have any money on me-”

“That’s okay, this first time is on me.” Alice smiles warmly. 

“Oh wow, Alice, thanks so much.” Marlene pauses for a moment. “Erm, how should I…?” Alice regards her curiously. “How should I smoke it?” A small smile breaks out on the older girl’s face. 

“D’you know anyone who smokes? What about... Lupin?”

“Just fags.”

“All the same, he’ll know how to roll a zoot. Enjoy!” Alice pushes her chair back and cracks her neck before getting up. “See you around, McKinnon.”

“Thanks again!” Marlene calls after her. Thus begins the journey to win Remus back. As it turns out, it’s not very difficult. He arrives in the common room not long after Alice leaves Marlene alone, and at first it seems like he isn’t even going to walk over and say hello to her. Marlene prepares herself to call after him, but he does a double take at seeing her sitting alone, and slowly wanders over (Marlene notices he’s limping and feels that familiar twist of worry always associated with Remus) to stand at the edge of her table.

“Hiya, Marls.”

“Sit down, I’ve got some news.” Remus raises his eyebrows and sits in the chair Alice had recently vacated. “Well, not news.” Marlene continues once he’s seated. “I’ve got some  _ weed _ .” Now, instead of looking pale and nervous, Remus looks thrilled. 

“Have you?”

“Yeah, Alice just gave me some.”

“For free?” Marlene nods and shrugs, and Remus brightens even more. “Excellent!”

“I just don’t know how to smoke it.”

“Oh, I can roll,” Remus tells her offhandedly, with as much confidence as she saw fit. Alice had been right about him. In the end, the two of them make plans to stay at school over the Hogsmeade weekend and regroup on a drizzly Saturday morning in late April. 

Remus physically looks dead on his feet. His face is pale, he’s limping badly and walks so slowly out to the greenhouse that it takes them double the usual time. His scarred hands shake when he starts going about rolling a joint, but he puts together a much more competent zoot than Marlene could have ever dreamed. 

They sit in the wet grass, backs up against the wall of the greenhouse where they’d carved their names in the wood at the beginning of the year. Remus lights the joint and gives her the first drag. It tastes heavy, smokey, but not like Remus’s cigarettes. It’s a warmer taste, more natural, and after coughing out a few hits, Marlene starts to feel spacey. The pair of them share the first joint, then one more, then another. 

After finishing the third joint, Marlene packs what’s left of her weed back into the baggie and stuffs it into her robes. The drizzle is still light and foggy, but the air is generally warm. Marlene scoots closer to Remus and leans her head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around her- all instinct. She’s missed his affection so much. 

So much, in fact, that she decides to combat their dynamic once and for all. “I think we should break up,” she tells him, with so little bitterness that it doesn’t feel like she’s just ended a relationship. 

“Yeah…” Remus mumbles. With her head so close to his chest, she can feel his voice humming through his throat, and she thinks that she’ll always love him no matter what they call themselves. Boyfriend, girlfriend, or just friends. Best friends, at least. “Yeah, Marlene, I think I’ve got some things to tell you.” 

“Oh, me too. Isn’t this exciting?” She giggles, and Remus smiles at her. “You want to go first?” 

“Ah, sure.”

“How many things have you got to tell?”

“Many things.” He responds instinctively, and then laughs again. “Many, many. Maybe… two or three, depending on how I feel. How many do you have?”

“Just one, I think.”

“Maybe I’ll go, then you go, then I go again. So we can sandwich our confessions.” My god, they’re definitely high. “Speaking of sandwiches,” Remus continues, getting another useless giggle out of Marlene, “I’m bloody starved.”

“We should confess,” she tells him, “and then we can eat.”

“Okay.” Remus takes a deep breath. “Oh, god. I think I’m sort of queer.” Marlene lets out a shriek that gets Remus pulling back from her, face automatically worried, but there’s no reason.

“You stole my confession!” She shouts. Remus’s eyes widen and his face turns to pure shock.

“You are too?” 

“Damn, Remus, you’ve made this properly anticlimactic!”

“Oh my god.” Remus looks incredibly relieved and pulls her into a hug that she’s all too happy to return. He rocks her side to side, jumper-soft arms warm around her, and pulls back smiling all big. “Christ, that’s a massive relief.”

“That I’m queer?”

“Yes! Doesn’t that make this feel better?”

“Well, yeah.” 

“But I love you.” Remus tells her, so earnestly and easily that she knows there could be no way to lie about this. “I really do, and I think I always will, even if we’re dating or if we’re not, because you’re fantastic and even if we’ve broken up, I don’t want things to change for us.”

“Yes, exactly. Exactly! I love you too.” Marlene feels a rush of warmth through her, giving her goosebumps. “When did you know?” 

“Know what?” Remus asks dumbly.

“That you were queer, silly!”

“Ohh. Last year. It was Hyatt who had me realizing it.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, damn, I was sitting there watching practice and he just looked so  _ fit.  _ When did you know?”

“Last year.” Marlene repeats. “It was Izzy who did it!” Remus barks a laugh. 

“The Gryffindor Quidditch team really did a number on our fragile sexualities.” Marlene bursts out laughing because it’s  _ true  _ and Remus laughs too, knocking his knobby knees against hers, giving that easy affection that she’ll never get tired of. “God, I’m so happy we’ve had this conversation.” 

“Me too.” Their laughter dies out and Marlene looks back at Remus. Brown hair, darkens every year as he gets older but still turns gold in the sunlight. Scars on his nose, through his eyebrow, down his jaw. Hazel eyes that are amber in the right light, brown when he’s angry, and green when he’s sitting outside on a rainy April day, looking at her with that familiar tender expression that got her falling in love with him in the first place. 

“So what’s the other two confessions?” She prompts, watching the last traces of laughter ebb from his face.

“Just one, now, I think.” He mumbles. “It’s nowhere near as fun. And, if you hate me after, then… then I’m just sorry.” Marlene frowns. 

“I could never hate you.” 

“I’ve been enough of a tosser for you to hate me.”

“Not enough for it to stick.” Remus sighs. She wonders if he  _ wants  _ someone to hate him.

“I’m a werewolf.” Marlene considers this. To be honest, the high in her chest and her head has made this news a lot less surprising than it could be, and she regards Remus with calm interest.

“I sort of suspected.” 

“Did you?”

“Yeah… always disappearing once a month, and the scars, you know…” Remus shifts uncomfortably and raises a hand to rub at the scar on his jaw out of instinct. “When did you… when did it happen?”

“I got bitten when I was small. When I was five.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus just shrugs. He seems a little more closed off and contemplative now, though he hasn’t physically moved away from her. “No one else suspects anything, though.” Marlene tells him, as though she can sense the worry about how she’d picked up on it. “None of the girls. I assume your mates know?”

“Yeah, they figured it out second year. Lily knows too.” 

“Ah, yeah. Lily picks up on these things.” Remus nods in agreement. “But Mary and Dorcas… you don’t want to tell them?” Remus shakes his head no. 

“I probably should have told you earlier, anyways, because lying about it was ruining our bloody relationship, but I didn’t know how. Get me high and I’ll just confess my worst kept secrets.” 

“Well, I’m glad you told me now.” He finally looks back over at her and she’s surprised to see his eyes looking rather glassy. “So that stuff about your dad…?” 

“I mean… I just… I lied, like. It was all lies. I’m so sorry. I caused a huge fuss and I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Remus. I understand. It’s okay.” Marlene puts an arm around him and he turns his body so they’re properly hugging, his chin over her shoulder, and he’s so  _ warm  _ and real and there. Marlene is so overwhelmed with relief at his acceptance of her sexuality, gladness that he’s finally gotten the weight of a secret that’s clearly hard to sit with off of his chest, and most of all, love. Pure, proper love.

Marlene asks “Promise me we’ll always be friends?” and Remus pulls out of the hug with eyes rimmed red and says  _ yes,  _ says  _ of course,  _ says  _ I bloody fucking love you and I’m so glad to know you  _ and pulls her close to him, sitting the way they always did in the windowsill of the common room- her back against his chest, blonde hair tickling his face, his arms warm around her and safe.

**l**

It’s after Quidditch practice, because he still smells like sweat and humid outside air, looks exhausted in his black and red house robes and drags a hand back through his curly hair, tired as though he doesn’t know what to do with her anymore.

“What?” Lily asks, although she heard him the first time and doesn’t think she needs to hear those words out of his mouth again. 

“I just- I’ve got a  _ lot  _ going on right now and I just, I’m not sure if I can make this relationship a priority.” Hyatt explains again. Lily knows that she’s the biggest problem of all- what with her constant, incessant anxiety and apparent inability to spend time with Hyatt because as infatuated as she is with him, she’s half jealous of every other girl he talks to and half angry with herself for not being the girlfriend he expected. 

“I’m sorry, Lily, genuinely. This has been fun, but I don’t want to drag on what’s been a good thing, you know? Best to cut it off now.” 

“Yeah…” Hyatt leans against the wall, face both frustrated and torn. His emotions are always on display- heart on his sleeve- and Lily is mortified to feel tears pressing behind her eyes. 

First Sirius had turned their friendship into what can only be described as a prank when he got himself banned from the Slug Club, something that Lily had been enjoying and now feels rather regretful about. He’d turned a source of relief and enjoyment for her into another stupid laughing matter, and now the club isn’t nearly as fun without him, and she hates that she misses his jaunty grin and the way he can talk to anyone without ever sounding awkward or unsure. 

And now Hyatt, who’d kept her smiling, distracted, and as bright as she  _ could  _ be over the course of fourth year. Her first boyfriend, breaking it off because she’s turned into such a nagging disaster. So maybe he’s got O.W.Ls starting next week, and maybe he’s training for the Quidditch cup, and maybe he’s in love with that pretty girl in his year, Tara Zhao, because they’re always talking and look too happy to be together. 

“Okay.” Lily tells him, voice cracks, feels shameful but refuses to cry in front of him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Lily pulls herself off of the wall, thinking she’ll go sob up in the dormitory and then find a way to avoid him for the rest of the school year, but Hyatt moves in the same direction and she thinks she’d rather die than have to walk by his side on the way to the common room. 

“I’ll-” She begins, jerkily trying to move around him, and Hyatt laughs out loud- a painful sound- when he moves the same direction and nearly crashes into her. “I’m going this way.” Lily brushes tears out of her eyes and finally steps around him, inadvertently stomping her feet as she rushes down the hallway, not once turning back to see if Hyatt waits to see her go.

With the path to the common room unfortunately taken by her ex-boyfriend, Lily’s next best option is the library, where she’s sure to find someone she knows. Except, who does she want to talk to right now? She doesn’t want to be alone, no, but when going down the list of friends, she keeps finding reasons to not want to rant to them about her recent breakup.

Marlene would have been her first choice, but her and Remus have recently made up through their own breakup, which they always giggle about uselessly when mentioning. Lily never understands what’s so funny about the end of their relationship, but they’re best of friends again, and Lily doesn’t want a cheery person to talk to right now. 

That kicks Dorcas off the list as well, as she’s always in a good mood, and would try to find some light in this situation. Mary’s probably off with her own boyfriend, Moira hates listening to other people, Sirius is currently on her bad list, and Remus is probably off doing something hilariously fun with Marlene. 

Which leaves Severus Snape. 

Lily finds him in the library and sits down dramatically at his empty table, pushing her hands back through her hair and sighing loudly enough for him to understand that there’s something wrong. 

“What’s up?”

“I’ve just been broken up with.” Severus looks alarmed.

“Oh, no. With… what’s his name?”

“Hyatt.” Lily tells him, knowing full well that Sev knows who Hyatt is. 

“Er…” Severus flickers over the pages of his textbook nervously, trying to think of the right thing to say. “He’s a prat?” Lily laughs, then sniffs, wiping those useless tears away again.

“Yes, he is a prat. Argh, a massive prat. But I reckon it  _ is  _ for the best. I think I just got attached.”

“Naturally.” Severus tells her, closing his textbook at long last. “Not planning any revenge?”

“I’m not  _ angry _ .” Lily confesses. “Do you think I should get revenge?”

“No. Maybe a distraction.” 

“And how could I distract myself?” Severus looks unsure. 

“We could go… do something?” Lily puts her head in her hands. It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday night, and they’ve got plenty of schoolwork hovering miserably in front of them. Lily would suggest going for a walk out on the grounds since the June weather is nothing if not for agreeable, but Hyatt always smells earthy, grassy, worn like the air outside and the Quidditch pitch and she doesn’t need the familiar smells of outside to bring on a crying fit.

“Here, actually, I’ve been thinking of making some developing solution, because apparently it works on muggle photos- so you can get them to move! Isn’t that exciting?” Lily peers through her fingers at Severus, who’s trying so hard to find a way to distract her, and cheer her up. 

“That is exciting.” 

“Do you want to go try it out?”

“Yeah.” 

“Brilliant.” Severus packs up his things while Lily stands up again, feeling restless and now glad that she’s got both someone to talk to and something to set her mind to. They end up in the dark dungeons while Severus starts pouring developer into a cauldron. 

“Do you have any photos to try?” He asks her, giving a vial of processor fixer a long look before dumping it into the cauldron as well. 

“Not on me…” Lily dumps her bag on the counter and digs through it, coming up with her camera, which she carries around to capture assorted moments at Hogwarts that she’d like to remember. She’s wanted a better camera than the small polaroid for a while, but she doesn’t know how to develop her own film and finds it much easier to just have the photos developed instantly through the box of chemicals at the bottom of the camera. 

“Shall I take one?” She jokes, lifting up the polaroid to point at Severus, who lifts his hand up in an awkward wave at the camera as she snaps the picture, hearing the camera whirr and buzz as the photo starts to develop. Lily waves the photo around in the air to get it to develop while Severus casts various spells and pours assorted phials of mysterious liquid into the cauldron. 

“I hope this works,” he mumbles, although Lily knows his Potions skills are insane, for lack of a better term, and her photo might as well start jump up and start running around once he’s poured the solution onto it. Lily looks at the black and white photo she’s taken- Severus caught mid-wave, a half smile on his face, frozen forever in hydroquinone. 

He comes to life when Severus soaks the photo in his magical developing solution. Severus smiles as he watches himself animate in the photo- his hand waving back and forth, smile lighting up his whole face, eyes flickering warmly over Lily standing behind the camera. 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Lily voices, obsessed with the way that the photo seems to breathe life beneath the clear developing liquid. “You could charge money for this.” Severus shrugs offhandedly. 

“Why would I? I could just do it for free.”

“Hogwarts’s newest photo-developing legend, Severus Snape!” Severus smiles at her and peers back into his cauldron.

“You think I should bottle this up?”

“Yes!” Lily encourages. “I’ll be wanting more, I can get some more photos tomorrow and bring them all to life.”

“Excellent.” They spend the rest of their time in the dungeons bottling the magical developing solution and talking about anything but Hyatt- who Lily has evidently forgotten about given the excitement that comes with being muggleborn and discovering something new about magic. 

Severus walks her all the way back up to the Gryffindor tower, even though the dungeons they’d been working in are right next to the Slytherin common room, and has enough sense not to mention the breakup at all as he tells her goodnight. As Lily walks up into the girls’ dormitory, she realizes that she hasn’t thought about the unfortunate happenings with Hyatt for as long as she’s been with Severus, and harbors that secret gratuity quietly and privately within her. Some things often remain better unsaid. 


	57. [YR 4] Lucky Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one of my fave chapters i've ever done! since half my chapters have lyrics from 1975 songs, here's another. these ones are from 'jesus christ 2005 god bless america' which is such a good song PLEASE go listen. and enjoy the chapter!

_ i’m in love with a boy i know, but that’s a feeling i can never show  _

**r**

Remus gets high before the final Quidditch match of the year because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to sit in the stands with Peter and endure another match that he’s not keen on understanding anytime soon. He gets overwhelmed in large crowds and remembers last year quite clearly- when Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup and a large party ensued while Remus had what could be best described as a panic attack and hid up in the dorms for the grand majority of it before Sirius dragged him up to the Astronomy tower and improved his night considerably.

So, the day before the match when he’s bored and most all of his friends are at practice, he seeks out Caradoc Dearborn. Caradoc is most often surrounded by other people- whether it be Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Gideon Prewett, or Noah Halkirk, another Hufflepuff in Caradoc’s year. Today, Noah is sat by Caradoc’s side in the courtyard as the two of them sit side by side with sunglasses on, soaking up the June sunshine.

Remus makes his presence known with a weak “hey,” and Caradoc waits a few moments before lowering his sunglasses. Caradoc always wears big dark boots that are more often than not covered in mud, and his dark brown hair looks longer than usual. He’s got rosacea, since his cheeks are always a pinkish red color, but with his dark eyes and sharp features, it doesn’t make him look as ridiculous as it could. 

His dark brown eyes look hazy and red, and Remus assumes that he’s been partaking in some of the dope that he and Marlene had recently enjoyed.

“How’s your day, Remus?” Caradoc asks, replacing his sunglasses after looking Remus up and down. “Take a seat, mate.” Remus sits down next to them. Now, Noah pushes his own glasses down his nose to look at Remus. He’s got bleached blonde hair that he spikes with gel, and Remus has often seen him wearing a leather jacket over his uniform. 

“Need fags?” Caradoc asks, sitting up like Noah and looking curiously at Remus.

“Nah, I was wondering if you’ve got any weed.” 

“Ah.” He nods wisely. “Alice is dealing these days.”

“Right, but she’s graduating, and I wouldn’t want to buy from her if she’s just leaving.” 

“Smart.” Noah imparts, nodding as though Remus had made a much more important decision than picking who to buy his weed from. 

Caradoc rubs at his chin thoughtfully, and looks at Noah with a glance that Remus can’t really understand. Noah nods at him, and he turns back to Remus. 

“Trying to get your smoke on before the match?” He asks Remus, which is not what he’d been planning on hearing. Truthfully, he  _ is  _ trying to get his smoke on before the match, and grins bashfully at the two fifth years, who exchange some more knowing looks. 

“Alright, mate, we’re looking to get a little blitzed before it as well. Nothing like weed to make a Quidditch match bearable.” Caradoc begins.

“You can say that again,” Noah mumbles.

“But I haven’t got enough on me to sell at the moment, you get me?” Remus nods. “I’m going to have a chat with Alice before she’s graduated, and I’m going to try scoring some bud over the hols, are you with me?” Another nod. “So, you can come smoke with us before the match if you’d like, but I’m not giving anything away or selling.”

“I’ve an idea.” Noah imparts. Both Caradoc and Remus turn to look at him expectantly. “Lupin, are you putting money on the match?” 

Remus scoffs. Laying down money for Quidditch is not high on his list of priorities. “Absolutely not.” 

“What if… what if Hufflepuff wins, you pay us for the skunk, and if Gryffindor wins, you get it for free?” Caradoc laughs at that, but turns back to look at Remus, who shrugs endearingly. 

“Fine by me.” Noah holds out a hand and Remus shakes it, now having a reason to attend the match and watch with a little more interest. On the morning of the Quidditch final, Remus leaves Peter with Mary and Lily while he heads out to the greenhouses where Noah and Caradoc have already arrived- packing weed into a pipe and lighting it with their wands. 

“Hey Lupin!” Noah coughs, waving Remus over to the smoky, strong smelling haze that the pair of them are sitting comfortably in.

“Hiya.” Remus is almost immediately handed the pipe by Caradoc, ever eager and friendly as his Hufflepuff tendencies promote, and in about twenty minutes, the three of them are flying high and walk down to the pitch while bumping into each other and giggling. The game has already started by the time they reach the pitch, and the two older Hufflepuffs slap Remus on the back and wish him good luck before climbing about to the side of the stands decked in yellow and black.

Remus staggers into the Gryffindor stands, stepping on people’s toes, blocking their vision, and being a constant nuisance (all the while keeping up a constant mantra of ‘sorry! sorry, excuse me, sorry!’) until he all but collapses in between Mary and Peter, exhausted from being shouted at by his fellow housemates for his ineptitude. 

Mary immediately sniffs Remus and slaps his arm gently.

“Remus, don’t tell me you’re high!”

“I couldn’t sit through this sober.” Remus confesses deadpan. 

“You’re  _ high _ ?” Peter demands loudly, getting Lily as well as a few other Gryffindors around them to stare.

“No need to broadcast the state I’m in.” Remus tells Peter, raising his eyebrows at Lily in a show of expectancy, as though challenging her to have something to say. She just rolls her eyes and turns back to the game, but Mary knocks her shoulder against Remus’s and gives him a nod of mixed support and understanding. He smiles and turns back to the match. Quidditch is rather stimulating while high, especially when the players fly close by to the stands, and Remus sort of feels like he’s watching a film where all the actors are his friends. 

Marlene is the most impressive to watch fly with the way she yields her bat as though she could defend the whole world with it. She flies fast, plays hard, and Remus finds himself hypnotized by the blonde plaits down her back. Yes, they’ve broken up and yes, she’s fully into girls but that doesn’t mean Remus doesn’t find her beautiful. It’s what Sion said- AC/DC, bisexuality, and so he’s got to move on but for a few moments, during the second time in two years that Hufflepuff plays Gryffindor during the Quidditch cup, Remus falls in love with Marlene all over again.

He remembers first year, playing football with her out in the autumn sunshine. He’d been goalkeeper, eleven years old with shaky knees as this tall, blonde, beautiful girl ran the ball down the field and drew her leg back and booted the ball right into his goal. He’d stared wide eyed as she’d jumped up and laughed, blue eyes crinkled in momentary joy, and he’d stood and stared because she’d never looked the same to him. 

Remus thoughtlessly leans against Peter for support, who pats his knee distractedly while watching the game with eager eyes. Dorcas soars over them, flying fast and evenly, and Remus waves up at her while Mary laughs and Peter takes his arm and returns it to his side, shaking his head in amusement. 

Remus turns his attention to Dorcas for a little while but then finds himself bored. Because Hyatt’s there, looking fit as ever, and although his body had sort of had a momentary awakening for Remus, he’d quickly gone head over heels for Sion. But Sion’s not here right now. Sirius, however, is. Remus only feels mild alarm while taking a little more than normal interest in watching Sirius swear loudly and give the two fingered salute to a Hufflepuff beater who’d nearly knocked him off his broom.

Yes, admittedly, he’s sort of weighed down by all his keeper gear and looks a bit like a roly-poly but god, there’s just something about the way he flies as though the best idea is never coming back down, it makes Remus sigh wistfully, earning twin looks from Mary and Peter. The latter of whom just rolls his eyes and turns back to the game. 

Remus is much more distracted by the players than the game itself, and nearly falls over when Peter (who’d been leaned on by Remus to such an extent that he was beginning to slump to the side as well) jumps to his feet, cheering and shouting, while Remus rights himself on the bench and stares around in bleary confusion. 

Everyone, it seems, around him has leapt to their feet and Remus is left staring around at everyone’s legs while still seated, wondering what had happened. Mary is the one to drag him to his feet, and Remus stands up just as a shower of gold and red confetti blasts over the crowd. 

“We’ve won it again!” Mary shouts, finally filling in Remus on all the excitement. Down on the pitch, he sees a scene familiar to that of last years’- the Gryffindor team embracing each other joyfully, and the Hufflepuff team looking downright mutinous. The Gryffindor team has only changed one player since the previous year- tall, redheaded Gideon Prewett is a beater instead of Rosa Corrals- but it seems that the seven of them have played well enough to win the cup two years in a row. 

Izzy Adams, who Remus only really knows because Marlene said she was the girl who essentially turned her queer, is being congratulated by Madam Hooch, who looks rather proud, although she was a Ravenclaw during her time at Hogwarts. 

Then Remus sees Marlene, James, and Sirius. They look so, so happy. Talking to each other, faces so bright and animated, sweaty and exhausted but  _ elated.  _ Remus thinks there’s something special about seeing the people he loves the most look like they’ve just created world peace through one Quidditch match, and he only realizes he’s teared up when Mary asks-

“Remus, for god’s sakes, are you  _ crying _ ?!” Remus springs away from her, knocking into Peter, who spins him around to look into his eyes.

“No!” Remus quickly wipes the sentimental tears out of his eyes and laughs nervously, instead. “Me? Cry?” 

“Quidditch does get very emotional.” Peter explains, and Mary gives Remus a look of frank disbelief before moving on to her next mission- getting onto the pitch itself. Remus separates from Peter, Lily, and Mary as they rush onto the pitch with the rest of the Gryffindors to congratulate the team and get a good look at the cup, which Izzy is holding on to as though it’s her birthright. 

The Hufflepuff team has disappeared into the changing rooms, and most of the house has crept away back towards the castle with their heads down. Remus glances around at the pitch, the stands, and is about to turn around when he feels two separate hands clamp down on each shoulder and he jumps, turning around to see Caradoc and Noah standing behind him.

“Congrats, Lupin!” Noah begins.

“Game well fought,” Caradoc continues.

“Well, it might’ve been. I wasn’t paying much attention. Did you see the cloud formations today? Those stratocumulus were a sight to see.”

“I know, right? Looked like ocean waves. I got lost for a little bit…” Caradoc trails off thoughtfully, and Remus looks back and forth from him to Noah. “Right, anyways!” He picks back up. “No need for payment, your team took care of that.” 

“Cheers.”

“You’re a good one, Lupin. Going anywhere for the holidays?”

“Just Wales.”

“Wales!” Caradoc looks at Noah, and back to Remus. “Wales is fun! I’m from Wales!”

“I live there.” Noah starts laughing and Caradoc smiles modestly.

“You reckon I should’ve known? Whereabouts?” 

“Mold.” Noah makes a snorting noise and Caradoc frowns at him curiously. “It’s up by Liverpool. Sort of by Wrexham.”

“Ah, I’m from Newport. As far away as anything. Well, either way, have fun in Mold and I’ll see you next year. You can be my first customer if I get myself a dealer, you know. You’re one of the best fag buyers at Hogwarts.” 

“I’ll put that on my resume.” Remus tells him blankly. Noah laughs again.

“You’re a funny one!” 

“Isn’t he?” Caradoc asks as though Remus isn’t right there. The fifth year claps him on the shoulder again and beams. “See you around, Lupin.”

“Thanks again,” Remus tells them as they begin to take their leave, “and good luck with O.W.Ls!”

“Don’t remind us!” Noah calls over his shoulder as they stride away towards the castle. Remus stands by himself in the tall grass, feeling the warmth of June sunshine on his skin. He’s in a properly good mood, and even starts whistling a made-up tune as he makes his way back down to the Quidditch pitch, on his way to congratulate his friends and then, at long last, enjoy a good party.

**s**

Sirius hasn’t been to many parties hosted by other houses, but he’ll be damned if anyone would try to compete with the gusto and fervor that Gyffindors put into their parties. They’re just the best at it.

After winning the Quidditch cup for the second year in a row, Izzy decides to get absolutely plastered, much to the aid of Gideon- who’s both an asset to the team and to Hogwarts drinking culture. Izzy is dating his twin brother Fabian, who’s more popular, a bit more nerdy, and a prefect. Still, Fabian joins in the festivities as much as anyone, and Sirius is as happy as anything that Remus hasn’t decided to hide up in his bedroom during this celebration. 

Sirius is buzzing with adrenaline and good feeling, and is especially cheered when Remus gets up and dances to Sheer Heart Attack with him, laughing out loud as they run and trip around the common room, doing more falling over the furniture than dancing. It’s not Zeppelin, not like watching Remus pull strings on an imaginary guitar, but it’s enough. 

James sings a rendition of Killer Queen along to Freddie that gets most of the common room looking on for the most part, but Sirius is half cut and just wanting to dance by the time Flick of the Wrist comes on. 

Oddly enough, Remus seems more susceptible to alcohol than usual, and by the time the record’s over, the party has calmed down enough for a sofa in the corner to be free of nervous younger students who don’t want to enter the fray of drunken Quidditch players, and Remus crashes down onto the sofa, hugging the arm of it as though he’d fly away without something to grab onto, and Sirius nearly sits on top of him as he joins him.

The rest of their group is right behind- James, Peter, Lily, Mary, and Marlene. No Dorcas (probably moping up a storm with the rest of the Hufflepuffs,) no Hyatt (him and Lily had broken up the week before,) and no Katie Robinson (James seems to have distanced himself from her over the course of fourth year.) Just the seven of them, the first year friend group, the people Sirius thinks of first when he thinks of friends.

Marlene sits next to Remus and Mary next to her, crowding too many people onto the small sofa. Lily sits on the floor on the side by Mary, James sits in front of Sirius, and Peter in between them, forming a sort of ring edging out from the sofa. 

Sirius looks around the common room- seeing the Prewetts, Edgar Bones, Izzy Adams, and Alice Fortescue hanging out by the icebox where the alcohol is, feet up on the table and talking loudly to each other. The other two members of the team- Hyatt and Nate- seem to have disappeared elsewhere. 

Sirius briefly wonders if in a few years, it’ll be his crowd with the best seats in the common room, older and cooler, attracting the attention of younger students. He sighs contentedly, leaning onto Remus, who hiccups in response. 

“Are you plastered?” Sirius asks.

“To an extent.” Remus tells him. Then he starts giggling when Lily shoots him a knowing look. 

“More than an extent! He got stoned before the match!” Remus keeps giggling and puts a hand over his face when the whole group turns to stare at him. His smile gets Sirius smiling (a Remus Lupin smile is nothing if not contagious) and the other boy nods along to T. Rex while his face turns red.

“You were baked?” Sirius continues. 

“I couldn’t help it! Dearborn found me and got me high!” Marlene snickers knowingly. 

“I’m sure it didn’t happen like that,” she mumbles.

“Okay, come on, what can I do now? I’m drunk, I’m high, I’m whatever.” Remus removes the hand from his face and looks at Sirius with a mischievous smile spreading across his scarred face. Despite himself, Sirius feels a useless blush creeping up his neck, and he presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he directs his attention elsewhere. 

“I think…” James begins. “We should do something  _ fun _ .” 

“We should play truth or dare.” Mary sighs with finality. Marlene and Peter nod in agreement, and they all turn to Lily, always the last defense to fall, who shrugs endearingly. 

“Where should we start?” Mary asks. 

“Remus.” Peter and Marlene say in unison, getting another unnecessary round of giggles out of the boy sitting next to Sirius. 

“Alright, Remus, truth or dare?” Mary asks him, leaning over so she can get a good look at him.

“Truth.” Remus mumbles. “I don’t want to move.” 

“Who’s the hottest professor at Hogwarts?” Mary asks, earning a groan from Remus as Marlene and Lily start giggling incessantly. 

“Erm…” Remus begins, obviously thinking it over. “I guess… I mean, she’s not a professor, necessarily, but Madam Pince isn’t so bad, is she?” The laughter stops as the group thinks about it.

“Trust you to want to snog the librarian.” James mutters, and Remus just rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, then, Sirius- truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” Sirius tells him. 

“Oh, blast, I hadn’t thought of one. Hmm… stand up, like.” Sirius looks at him.

“My dare is to stand up?”

“No, like, that’s the first step. Stand up and do jumping jacks until it’s your turn again.”

“Piss off.”

“You asked for a dare!” Sirius gets to his feet and begins to do jumping jacks, huffing and puffing as he asks Marlene a truth. By the time they’ve gone around the circle, Mary has recounted a tale of hypnotization, Lily has confessed that she’s wearing red underwear, Peter has done twenty somersaults around the common room, and James has eaten an entire piece of paper. 

Remus asks another truth from James, who’s decidedly inebriated and comes up with a rather confusing would you rather question that he huffs out through peals of laughter. It’s something about rather having snake scales for skin or gaining fifteen stone, and Remus stops to think about it, his amber eyes trained on Sirius, who’s standing in the corner still doing jumping jacks. 

He’d been subject to ridicule from the older students in the corner, and Remus seems to be drawing out his pain even longer.

“Keep it up, Sirius!” Remus tells him, causing James to start laughing and Mary to turn around on the couch to get a better look at him. “I reckon I’d gain fifteen stone, anyways. Would have to do a lot of jumping jacks to lose that…” Sirius scoffs at him as he stops the exercise. “Truth or dare, then?”

“Dare.” Sirius says.

“You thought you would’ve learned your lesson!” Mary imparts indignantly. 

“Nah, no more jumping jacks…” Remus cuts himself off with a wide yawn that stretches the scars on his face and sits up straighter on the couch, blinking at Sirius. “I dare you to take a midnight swim in the Black Lake.” 

“No problem.” Sirius tells him easily, sharing a look with James and Marlene. They’ve gone for their fair share of midnight swims in the lake, mostly after the late night Quidditch matches that James had put together the previous year. “Shall we go now?” 

“Yup.” Remus scrapes himself off the couch, swaying as he stands and leaning on Sirius for support as the rest of the group climbs to their feet. After running upstairs and quickly changing into swimsuits, they reconvene in the common room all breathless and excited. Lily is the only one to bring up concerns of getting caught. 

“What if… someone finds us?” She asks as they leave the common room in a collection of too-loud, too-drunk noise.

“Then we serve detention.” Sirius explains. Remus is essentially hanging off of him, both staggering and limping while he walks, which leaves him hopping in an unnecessarily funny sort of way, and Lily glances at him, looks at Sirius, and then apparently gives up on worrying once Mary pulls her along. If Mary’s going along, then there’s bound to be fun. 

Sirius takes off his shirt and kicks off his shoes once stood on the shore of the lake. The six of them look at him nonplussed, standing there pale in his trunks, the whole of the Black Lake stretched out in front of them. He’s got an audience, and he’s got to please.

“Go on!” Remus shouts as Sirius wades into the lake, feeling goosebumps ride up on his skin as the water climbs up to his thighs. “Head under too!” 

“I hate you!” Sirius shouts, but dunks his head in compliance. He comes up gasping, shaking his freezing wet hair from side to side, and is ecstatic to see James on his way into the water as well, laughing about how there’s nothing more fun than  _ swimming,  _ is there? 

It’s not long before the rest of them join him in the water- swimming, floating, doing gymnastics in the shallow part closer to the shore. Even Lily is complacent in the activities and splashes into the water wearing a garishly striped bathing suit done in shades of brown. Her red hair turns darker when plastered to her face. Sirius has never seen her look so unpresentable, especially when James starts singing ‘Saturday Night’s Alright’ while splashing her and she laughs instead of screams.

Remus is the only person not joining in. Marlene has abandoned him to go do underwater cartwheels with Mary, and he sits on the shore with his arms wrapped around his knees, watching the rest of them with a small frown on his face. 

“Moony!” Sirius cries as he splashes up the beach, half starkers and dripping wet. “Come on in! End of fourth year! Go for a swim!” Remus is even wearing a  _ jumper,  _ for god’s sakes, even though it’s June. The night is chilly but not nearly as cold as it could be, and it’s not necessarily jumper weather at all. Sirius wonders if the boy even owns a pair of swim trunks.

“I’ll probably drown.”

“James’s way more plastered than you, Moony, and look at him!” James is trying to float on his back but keeps upending himself, spitting up mouthfuls of lake water while Peter watches on. “I’ll look after you.” Remus continues to frown. 

“Ach.” He says after a while, “Why not?” Sirius could jump for joy. Remus drags off his jumper and leaves it in the pile where everyone else has abandoned most of their clothes. Then he takes a good long while untying his boots, kicks off his trousers, and heaves himself unsteadily to his feet. Sirius has waded a little ways back into the water, not wanting to micromanage Remus’s undressing, but has been very secretly hoping that Remus would get rid of his shirt as well. He watches the boy on the shore closely now, eyes hungry, stomach tense with anticipation. 

Remus looks around at the lake, up at the sky and the sliver of the moon, the glittering pinpricks of stars, then shrugs his shoulders and takes off his shirt. Sirius wonders if the stars in the sky have relocated to his eyes. Remus looks drop dead  _ gorgeous  _ standing there in nothing but his pants. Sirius has never seen him so much as shirtless before. He always changes in private and must double check the locks on the bathroom door because Sirius has never once barged in on him- like he has countless times with Peter and James. 

Remus is tall, thin, but sort of mysteriously fit. His shoulders are sharp, collarbones prominent, upper arms taut. And there’s scars, scars everywhere. Dark, fresh ones, across his shoulders, tracing down his chest, and white ones that flash silver in the moonlight. He raises up a hand to run back through his hair and Sirius sees thick scars on his forearms- probably from self harm and not the wolf, but all the scars on him are self inflicted.

Sirius has noticed that Remus always touches scars he’s insecure about. Fixation might be the perfect word for how Sirius feels about the scar cutting Remus’s jaw, a very thick upraised one that he always rubs while nervous. Tonight, Remus rubs unconsciously at the huge white scar marring his shoulder: a half circle of rough scar tissue.

Where he was bitten. 

It does look like someone had taken a great big bite out of his shoulder, a chunk of skin gone, and Sirius now understands why Remus so often remains in long sleeves or always with some material over his chest. Remus rubs his shoulder again, then realizes he’s doing it and stops. Stares around the lake. Looks at Sirius. 

Comes into the water. 

He limps down the shore, treading gently on the pebbly beach, and then reaches the water where Sirius is.

“I’m fit to float.” Remus says.

“Good idea.” Remus moves father out into the water and Sirius turns, obsessed with the way his friend’s body looks wavering pale under the dark water of the lake. Sirius splashes after him, wanting to touch him, wanting to  _ kiss  _ him, wanting to do all the things that he does to Benjy with eyes closed while pretending the Ravenclaw boy is someone else. Someone like Remus. 

But he can’t. No, he can’t. 

Remus starts swimming, pushing through the water in freestyle, arms cutting through the lakewater, and he spins on his back and sits up in the water while kicking his feet, calling for Sirius to come join him. So Sirius does, would go with him anywhere, and swims farther out until he can’t feel the ground beneath his feet. Remus gives a final kick and then lays spread eagled on his back in the water. 

Sirius copies him and takes a deep breath as he floats on his back, seeing nothing but the huge black sky stretching out above him. He can hear James singing and laughing back towards the shore, and Lily’s voice, and Peter’s. The people he loves. 

“Moony?” 

“What’s up?” 

“Was this year better?” Sirius asks, thinking naively of the conversation the two of them had shared at the end of the previous year. Remus doesn’t reply at first. Sirius wonders if he’s even heard him. He hears a soft splash of water as Remus moves around. 

“Yeah.” He replies, eventually. “Loads, better, actually. I guess you were right. Cheers for that.” 

“No problem.” Sirius tells him. He smiles privately, looks up at the stars, wonders what Remus is thinking about. Doesn’t ask. Just enjoys what’s left of his night.


	58. [HOLS '75] Fate Has Dealt Me A Lonely Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's your walburga cw! sorry this chapter is so sad but sirius black is a tragic character and we must recognize him as such

_ you blamed it all on your kids- we were young, we were innocent _

_ you told me a lie, fuck you for that. fuck all your pride and fuck all your prayers _

**s**

Sirius hadn’t been expecting his return to Grimmauld to be a pleasant experience. He hadn’t seen his parents in almost a years’ time and had naively sort of been hoping that after this much time, they’d find it in themselves to forgive and forget about the fact that he’d been kicked out of their house. By the end of fourth year, he begins to forget why his mother asked him to leave in the first place, and is in such a giddy, lovestruck state that he’s much too optimistic on the train ride back.

“You’ll call or write if you need anything, right?” James asks on the train once they’ve arrived back in King’s Cross. “And my house is  _ always  _ open, you can show up whenever, however, we don’t mind. My parents are always happy to have you.”

“I know.”

“And if anything’s wrong, don’t feel bad about leaving, alright? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to go, you’re not obligated to stay, not for your parents and not for Regulus.”

“James- I know. I’ve got it. I’m fine.” James rocks back on his heels, looking conflicted. 

“Right.” He pauses, clearly not having expected Sirius to be in such a positive mood about going home for the summer. “Well, I’ll see you in August, okay?” Sirius is visiting James’s house no matter what this summer. Remus is joining them, having finally given in and agreed to visit this year, but the full moon is later in August and he’ll only be able to stay for a little over a week.

James gives Sirius a brief, one armed hug and then opens the door of the carriage, following behind Sirius as he descends onto the platform. 

Remus is saying goodbye to Marlene and Lily, and once he finishes hugging the blonde girl, he turns back and smiles at Sirius in that gentle, kind way that’s gotten him so head over heels.

“I’ll see you in August, okay? Best of luck with the family.”

“Thanks,” Sirius tells him, pulling him in for a quick hug. “And you. Write if you need anything.” 

“Same for you.” Remus steps back, his hair golden in the warm light of the train station, and he smiles again. Then he turns to find Mary, leaning down a bit to listen to her talk, and nods before the two of them set off together. Mary lives in London and Remus has to walk down to Diagon Alley to floo home, so Sirius assumes they’re leaving together. 

He turns and sees Marlene with her family- all tall, all blonde, all Scottish, and frowns for a moment at the sight of them before remembering that she most always visits family in England after school is over before returning back up north. The McKinnon clan must be huge. Sirius does a full circle while looking around the platform, and fails to see any trace of his parents. 

James has followed Peter over to where his younger sister and his mum are standing. Sirius trails after them halfheartedly, a little excited about not being carried off immediately by his parents, but also privately confused.

“Your parents didn’t come?” He asks James, who looks surprised to still see him there.

“No, the travel’s a bit much for them, and it’s unnecessary if I can just go back with Peter.” Peter is in the middle of an attack from his mum, being smothered with hugs and kisses, while Jasmine looks on embarrassedly. “Where are yours?”

“Oh, dunno.” Sirius stands on his tiptoes to get another look around, but still comes up short. Further down the platform, he sees his brother saying goodbye to some of his friends. “Ah, there’s Reg, I suppose I should head off. See you, Pete!”

“Bye Sirius!” Peter calls as Sirius nods at James and finally detaches from the safety of his friends, wandering slowly over to where Regulus is waiting for him. They don’t talk at all on their walk back to Grimmauld, and once they arrive, Sirius feels a familiar tightness of anxiety in his chest that makes him feel ill at the best of times and psychotic at the worst.

He stands like a ghost in the doorway as his parents greet Regulus with hugs and kisses, asking him how the trip was, how exams were, how the year was. Orion asks him about Quidditch and Sirius has to clench his jaw tight while Regulus explains that Slytherin didn’t do so well, but maybe next year they’d have a shot. No one mentions the winning team this year. After Walburga and Orion have spoken to Regulus, he disappears upstairs, leaving Sirius in the unfortunate spotlight of attention. 

“You didn’t come home for Christmas.” Walburga and Orion stand silhouettes in the doorway, and Sirius has trouble meeting either of their eyes. His mother’s tone of voice relays her mood: irritated and bothered by the sight of him. Sirius is halfway glad Regulus is upstairs and away from this, but he also feels alone without the comfort of his brother by his side. His parents are never so bad when Regulus is next to him.

“I didn’t think I was welcome.” Sirius tells them honestly. “After you kicked me out,” he adds, knowing it was a mistake from the moment he said it out loud, but unable to do anything about it now. 

Walburga stiffens after he says that, and Sirius catches a sharp, strange glint in his father’s eye. “We did not kick you out.” His mother explains. “I clearly remember giving you a choice of whether or not you wanted to stay.” Sirius stares at the ground, swallowing the lump in his throat, wishing it were easier to breathe. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Sirius looks up at her, full of disbelief and confusion. 

“If that’s the lie you’ve been telling your friends all year, then so be it. But let it be said that we did  _ not  _ forcibly remove you from our house. You were given a choice. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Sirius tells her weakly. He thinks back on last summer, remembers his mother standing in the doorway of his room after eavesdropping on him and Regulus, telling him to get out, telling him he wasn’t welcome. He remembers a summer passed from house to house, not wanted anywhere for too long except at the Potters’, where he felt a guilty sort of burden for overstaying his welcome. He remembers being kicked out.

But  _ was _ he given a choice to leave? Now, he doesn’t remember.

“Yes what?” Walburga asks.

“Yes ma’am.” She frowns at him, somehow always managing to look down on him even though he’s hit his growth spurt and is now a little taller than she is. 

“Wipe that insolent expression off your face.” She snaps, and Sirius unknowingly pouts further, not knowing how to rearrange his features in a way that will suit her because he’s so  _ confused,  _ and upset at being thrust into a situation this tense and unhappy as soon as he’s returned home. What happened to winning the Quidditch cup, and swimming in the lake with a half naked Remus, and being in love and loved by others- to being respected and wanted around? 

“Do as I say!” She continues, and Sirius wants to scream because he doesn’t know how to make the right fucking  _ face  _ for her.

“I don’t- I don’t know what you want me to do!”

“Go to your room.” Orion hasn’t spoken this whole time, yet his instructions bring immediate relief to Sirius, who feels as though those four words are his saving grace. “And watch your tongue, boy. Show us some respect.” Sirius nods at him, thanks him, and turns to drag his luggage upstairs. Kreacher had levitated Regulus’s things up to his room, but Sirius isn’t shown that kind of generosity and has to lug his bags all the way up to his attic bedroom.

As he reaches the second floor, Sirius sees Regulus standing casually in the doorway, as though he’d been eavesdropping. Upon seeing his older brother, Regulus makes to shut his bedroom door and pretend he hadn’t been listening in, but Sirius stops him.

“Reg,  _ did  _ she kick me out?” Sirius asks nearly desperately, genuine in his questioning. Regulus pauses, freezes, stares at Sirius. “Did she give me a choice? I can’t… I don’t even remember, now.” 

“I wasn’t there.” Regulus looks at Sirius with a very odd expression on his face. Is it pity? Is it fear? “I was at the rally, remember?” That’s one concrete memory from what had happened, at least. “I got home and you were gone.”

“What did mum tell you?” Sirius still refers to her as ‘mum’ when she’s not around, because it’d be much too weird and distant to call her ‘mother’, despite the fact that she is anything but a motherly figure to him.

“She just said you’d left.” Sirius wishes he had a Pensieve to store his memories, so he could look back on the argument he’d had with his mother to recall the events exactly as they’d happened. Now, they’re all clouded by different viewpoints and Sirius can’t even remember if he  _ had _ been kicked out of the house. Had he just been making it up? Was it him truly being dramatic all along?

“Okay.” He tells Regulus in a weak voice. “Nevermind, then.” 

“Sirius-” Regulus begins, but Sirius feels embarrassed about how weak he is in front of his parents, and about his apparent lack of normal memories, and cuts him off.

“I said nevermind, Regulus, so just leave it. Merlin’s sake.” Regulus falls silent as Sirius drags his trunk up the stairs to the attic, banging it loudly on each step. He doesn’t go back into his bedroom until Sirius slams the door to his own. 

Once inside, Sirius takes some time to pace the length of his room and wonder what the hell he was thinking. He had been kicked out of his house (yes, he  _ had,  _ he hadn’t been able to go back, had he?), hadn’t been invited back for winter holidays, and had decided of his own accord to return to 12 Grimmauld Place, not really a home anymore, more like a place where he’s got a bedroom and a brother and that’s about it.

Home isn’t somewhere you have nightmares about. All of Sirius’s bad dreams take place at Grimmauld. He’ll fall asleep after tossing and turning for hours in his bed at Hogwarts, and wake up in a clouded unreality where his mother is standing over him, screaming and shouting in a language he can’t understand. And he won’t know what to do or what to say, he’ll be confused and unable to reply because she can’t understand him and he can’t make sense of what she’s saying and she’ll scream (because you can scream the same in any language) and lash out at him, with her heavy ringed hand or a curse from a wand and Sirius won’t fight back because he’s weak. Always weak. 

At school, he can pull pranks. He can jinx first years for the fun of it, knock Snivellus into walls if he’s feeling the need, pull ingenious, hilarious pranks, get halfway through the process of turning into an animagus. He’s fifteen, unburdened by the stressors of adult life, keeper of the undefeated Gryffindor Quidditch team, and scores supremely high marks in most of his classes. 

But at home? At home he’s reduced to nothing but a weak child who’s too afraid to backtalk for fear of the consequences that come with it, and now too paranoid to even speak certain words out loud because Sirius never knows who’s listening. Even while he starts writing a letter to Remus as a means of distraction, he pauses worriedly because what if the mail isn’t safe either?

The first few summers after starting Hogwarts, Sirius hadn’t told James much about his life at home. He’d wanted to keep things private, and had been busy convincing himself that he loved his parents and that they, in return, loved him in their own way. Sirius assumes that James had known that his parents hadn’t quite exactly ‘turned him loose’ for the summer last year, and that there’s been some underlying idea that he’d been kicked out of the house, but they had never talked about it.

James doesn’t really know what it’s like. No one knows what it’s like. 

Not even Remus, who has his own problems at home, but his are so far off from Sirius’s own that they can hardly be compared. Sirius’s parents are obsessed with control, and Remus’s parents want nothing to do with it. His mum’s a sickly alcoholic, his dad’s depressed and burnt out- so Remus is left to grow up on his own, overlooked and for the most part neglected. 

Just the thought of Remus gets Sirius wistful and sad, and he sits down to compose a generally censored letter to letter to his friend. It’s not long before there’s a timid knock at the door and Sirius looks up to see Regulus hovering in the doorway nervously.

“Dinner.” He says. Sirius would ordinarily roll his eyes and scoff, saying that he’s not coming, but after last year, he’s convinced that none of his conversations within Grimmauld remain private. “And Sirius?” Sirius just looks at him, doesn’t ask ‘what?’, only needs to raise his eyebrows. “I know you don’t like to, but all you have to do is keep your head down and you’ll be alright.” 

It’s not really a matter of if he  _ likes  _ to, it’s more of a matter of his own personality being stifled by his family, but whatever, if that’s how Regulus feels, then so be it.

“Yeah.” Sirius tells him blankly. “Fine, I know.” Regulus rolls his eyes and leaves the doorway, moving downstairs as Sirius follows him reluctantly. As it turns out, keeping his head down and mouth shut turns out to be a rather difficult affair- especially tonight. Walburga and Orion are arguing as the boys arrive downstairs, generally unaware that their sons are standing outside the dining room listening to them.

“He’s entitled to it, Walburga, it was rightfully and legally left to him, so what more can we do? He’s nearly sixteen, now-”

“He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ it! And he doesn’t know about it, so there’s no need to give it to him if he’s never heard about it-”

“Heard about what?” Sirius asks casually, strolling into the dining room as though he’s just arrived. Walburga spins around with an incensed expression on her face, eyes so full of hatred at the sight of her eldest son that Sirius feels as though he should have put up a protection charm before going downstairs. Orion’s jaw is tightly clenched, and he glances at Regulus standing nervously in the corner of the dining room before looking back at Sirius. 

Orion clears his throat and Walburga whips her head back to stare at him. He looks at his wife for a long moment before turning his attention back to Sirius.

“Sirius, your Uncle Alphard left a sizable sum of money to you, and I believe that you are entitled to receive it.” Sirius pauses for a moment, digesting this information.

“What do you mean he left me a sum of money?” He asks slowly. “What… why? Why would he do that?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Walburga says under her breath. Orion ignores her, but the look on his face is becoming more and more disturbed.

“Sirius… you don’t know?” Now, Sirius is becoming genuinely worried.

“Know what?”

“Your uncle passed away…” Sirius catches his breath, staring wide eyed at his dad, “... at the beginning of the year, an accident while he was traveling, I thought-” Orion breaks off, again looking at Regulus. 

“He’s  _ dead? _ ” Sirius demands. “And no one  _ told  _ me?!” He feels literally as though a rug has been pulled from beneath his feet- left spinning, disoriented, and permanently confused- as he always does at home. He turns around, staring at his pale faced younger brother who looks decidedly regretful. “Did you know?” 

Regulus Arcturus Black is well known for his complete inability to lie, and his grey eyes widen uselessly as he opens his mouth with no sound coming out.

“Did you know?!” Sirius shouts. None of his parents ask him to lower his voice, just watch the scene unfold in front of them.

“I… Narcissa wrote me a letter-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?! You didn’t think to stop me in the halls and say ‘Hey, Sirius, Uncle Alphard’s dead, just so you know?’ Never crossed your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

“Sirius, it’s not his fault.” Orion’s low, pacifying voice comes from behind him, and Sirius whirls around, red faced and furious. 

“So it must be  _ your  _ fault, then! When were you going to tell me? When you were fighting about his bloody fortune? That’s how you wanted me to find out?” Orion doesn’t reply, just looks regretfully at Sirius. 

“You’re not getting his fortune, anyways.” Walburga continues insensitively. Orion looks upset at this, opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “I’ve always disapproved of my brother’s decisions, and this is yet another one that I simply cannot agree with. You’ve done nothing to deserve his money-”

“He left it to  _ me! _ Which means it’s  _ mine! _ ” Sirius shouts. Orion nods, almost imperceptibly, and Sirius takes that small gesture as means to continue. 

“He’s one out of the two members of this family that have ever shown me any semblance of love, or understanding, or care, and he  _ died,  _ so cheers for letting me know, by the way, god love you, can’t thank you enough for that heads up, but he’s left me something and it’s rightfully mine so you’re going to give it to me!” Sirius lets out a long breath after his rant and knows that he’s outdone himself by the look on his mother’s face.

“Come here, you pathetic, insolent, disrespectful boy.” She strides across the dining room, grabbing his arm tight enough to leave a mark, and drags him into the drawing room, shoving him forcefully towards the Black family tapestry on the wall. “Do you want to see how  _ little  _ your uncle’s opinions matter to me? Watch, Sirius.  _ This _ is what happens when you make one too many bad decisions.  _ Confringo! _ ” 

Sirius watches in horror as his uncle Alphard’s face is blackened and burned off the family tree, leaving a messy black splotch in its wake- identical to that of his cousin Andromeda’s. He wants to cry out in protest, scream that he’s just  _ died,  _ and how could his mother blast her own brother’s name off of the family tree just because he’s left his fortune to her son? How could that be a worthy offense of being permanently burnt off the tree?

Sirius feels a nauseous twist in his stomach and shakes his arm out of his mother’s grip, knowing that she’s speaking but having tuned out whatever vile nonsense is coming from her mouth. He moves away from her, out of the drawing room and towards the staircase, wanting to lock himself in his room and try to find a way to process what he’s just learned, but she follows him in a fury of dark anger.

“You’re out of touch if you think you can sit up in your room and not come to dinner.” Walburga snarls.

“Walburga.” Orion protests.

“No- don’t start with me.” She addresses her husband and then turns back to Sirius. “If you think you can shout at me and then run away to your room, you’re mistaken. Kreacher!” She shouts, striding back into the dining room. Orion follows after her, leaving Sirius to stand shakily in the doorway while Regulus does that awful, awkward hovering act that Sirius hates so much. 

Sirius looks at his brother through tearful eyes and pushes past him, ignoring the weak ‘sorry’ that Regulus offers. Sirius sits stiff backed at the dinner table and picks at the food in front of him, having absolutely no appetite but not wanting to be shouted at for wasting the food. 

“Sirius, I would like you to understand that although  _ you _ believe that you are uncared for and unloved, the very fact that you are sitting here in a warm house, with food in front of you, and a bed upstairs proves otherwise.” Walburga begins while Sirius pushes the stew around on his plate. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

It’s an age old instruction, and Sirius should know better than to stare at his plate by now, but it’s still hard to raise his eyes and meet her hateful gaze. It’s only gotten more difficult to do as he’s grown older. 

“Did I not provide you with countless tutors and governesses to make sure that you were well educated and prepared for the future?” Sirius stares at her, not knowing if he’s supposed to respond. “Answer me.” She snaps.

“You did.” 

“And did I not buy you new dress robes, a cauldron of the best quality, as many books and expensive quills as you’d like for each school year? Did I not buy you a new broomstick as an eleven year old despite how I feel about Quidditch?” Sirius thinks  _ you bought me that broom before I was sorted into Gryffindor and everything took a turn for the worse and besides, mother dearest, it was dad’s idea for me to fly in the first place. _

“You did.”

“And, once again, did I not give you the opportunity that you’d been begging for last summer- to go spend it with your friends, away from home?” 

“You did.”

“And have you ever once said thank you?” Sirius pauses, feeling his chest tighten, like he might start crying. Here he is, just learned about his favorite uncle’s death about six months after it happened, expected to sit at the dinner table and thank his mother for the little things she’d done for him in the spaces in between abuse. Instead of being allowed to mourn. 

“Thank you, mother.” Walburga regards him evenly, those steel grey eyes of hers boring into him. Sirius feels like he might be sick.

“Finish your food and then you may go to your room.” Sirius chokes down the rest of the stew as fast as possible while his parents and Regulus start talking about his brother’s school year. He’s simply been forgotten. And today, this is a relief. Once he’s forced down his dinner, Sirius scrapes his chair back and storms out of the dining room, runs up the stairs to his room while ignoring the unhelpful, hissing jeers from portraits in the hallway, and slams the door to his bedroom, locking it and collapsing onto the bed in a show of dramatics. 

Sirius’s room seems to be closing in on him, and when he looks around, he finds himself unable to focus on anything. The posters on his wall, the Gryffindor flag hanging behind his bed, the broomstick in the corner, the haze-smoked dirty windows- all of it passes too fast in his vision and for a terrifying moment, he’s unable to breathe. 

Both hands on the bedsheets under him as though tethering himself to anything that might remain real, gasping for breath as his chest seems to constrict even further with panic. Sirius forces himself to take a deep breath despite how much it hurts, and after one, he takes another and another, he can finally open his eyes and see his bedroom without it spinning. It’s just through tears, now. 

He doesn’t cry much, just lies back on his bed and covers his face with his hands, wondering if there could have been any worse way to return home. Home-  _ fuck  _ home. Fuck his parents, and fuck Grimmauld Place. There’s a twisting ache in his stomach when he thinks about Uncle Alphard and his sly humor, his tendency to get a little drunk at family functions and tell jokes that kept Sirius laughing into stitches, his kindness, his generosity.

He’d been the first person Sirius had gone to last summer once turned out onto the streets by himself, and Alphard had welcomed him in with open arms. Taken care of him with no complaint, put him up with a place to sleep, given him food, spent time with him and made him feel loved. Wanted. Sirius doesn’t feel that way often. And now it’s been lost. 

He’ll never sit in Alphard’s flat, listening to his uncle’s tales of his faraway travels. Never sit out on the balcony and watch the stars through a haze of light pollution. He’ll never see his uncle's face again- eyes crinkled with smile lines, skin tan from spending time in overseas sunshine. Sirius isn’t even upset about the fortune, he doesn’t want the  _ money,  _ he wants to know that Alphard had left him something at all and that he’s gotten to keep it. There’s nothing else for him to hold onto. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the manipulation that walburga is using on sirius is called gaslighting, which is a very harmful type of emotional abuse. [this](https://www.theguardian.com/science/2017/mar/16/gaslighting-manipulation-reality-coping-mechanisms-trump) article has some info about it & ways to live thru it. writing this hit close to home for me so i always feel like throwing some helpful / positive(ish) information in at the end in case y'all are interested.


	59. [HOLS '75] So Pretty It Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/3 of the summertime povs (i seem to add more every year)! this one is much brighter than last chapt, please enjoy 4k words of my fave ladies and that's it. also yes, there's many parallels between the mckinnon & weasley families, and it's all for a reason, as diabolical as it may turn out to be. 
> 
> lyrics from 'girls' by girl in red, a lesbian anthem

_ they’re so pretty it hurts _

_ i’m not talking about boys, i’m talking about girls _

**d**

In August of 1975, Dorcas Meadowes takes a train up to Edinburgh to go visit Marlene. 

She’s a bit nervous to be traveling on her own, but the nerves seem futile when it becomes apparent that train services in the U.K. are complete and utter rubbish. It’s supposed to be a three hour ride with just one train change, but the first train breaks down as soon as they reach the stop in Newcastle, so Dorcas lugs her bags onto the platform to wait for a new one. 

When the new train rattles in, she boards and finds a seat amongst all the hubbub and chaos. It takes about five minutes for an old lady to come upon her and demand her to give up the seat, which Dorcas does without protest only because it’d look a bit wrong for her to start fighting old women about finders keepers when it comes to seats on the train. 

It’s not long before an announcer comes over the speaker of the train once more. “Unfortunately…” a voice begins, breaking off to cough loudly, “the driver of this train has found himself…” the announcing system squeaks loudly and Dorcas hears voices in the background, “...unable to continue driving due to an illness. He’ll be departing at our next stop. Apologies for the inconvenience.” The train slides onwards, and Dorcas wonders out loud if the driver is ill, how is it that he’s still able to get them to their next stop?

No one replies to her, she’s just shot an assortment of dirty looks, and she scoffs out loud before mentally waging war on the people of Scotland for their misplaced unfriendliness. They roll into a tiny station in some village Dorcas has never heard of, and wait for about twenty or so minutes before the train finally starts moving again.

By the time the soft, rolling landscape of the Scottish countryside becomes dotted with houses and eventually a crowded, dirty cityscape surrounds them, Dorcas is worn out and exhausted. They finally reach Waverly Station and Dorcas is pushed and shoved by countless other travelers in their haste to get off the train. Dorcas uses her elbows liberally and fights her way onto the platform, feeling as though she’s just fought in a war.

And there is her savior, watching the scene with wide eyed interest: Marlene McKinnon.

“Marls!” Dorcas calls, tripping over her suitcase as she moves towards her friend.

“Dorcas!” Marlene is unburdened and therefore faster, and the two of them share a long hug. Dorcas breathes in the citrusy smell of Marlene’s hair and pulls away from her, grinning widely and happier than anything to see her again. They’d written back and forth to each other all summer. Dorcas had spent the majority of her summer moping about Sunderland, bored out of her skull and wishing for something to do other than write to Marlene and pretend she was by her side.

And now, she is. “How was the trip?” Marlene asks as they escape the crowded train platform. 

“Dreadful,” Dorcas begins as they’re turned out onto the streets of Edinburgh. The city’s buildings are tall and dark, with a bright grey sky beating down upon them. Although ancient and historic, Dorcas is too caught up in her own miserable journey north and proceeds to rant to Marlene about it. 

“The first train broke down twenty minutes out of Sunderland and so we had to stop and wait for another. And on that one, I had a spat with some old bird who wanted my seat, as though old people  _ want  _ pity these days! Here’s me thinking they’re too proud to force random teenagers out of their chairs! Anyways, we broke down again after that-”

“Did you really?”

“No, well, no, but it was the same situation. Driver couldn’t continue, had to stop in some nowhere village and wait for another one. I had to stand the whole ruddy three hours and sorry to say it, Marlene, but you Scots are really awful.” Marlene looks sidelong at her, a joking frown on her face. 

“You’re lucky you have a Northern accent, I couldn’t vouch for you otherwise.”

“Is that so?”

“No telling what could happen to a Londoner up here. I always go down to London so Mary doesn’t end up here.” Dorcas laughs, and then, distracted, points up at a great big gothic spire. 

“What’s  _ that _ ?” Marlene glances at it distractedly.

“Hm? Oh, that’s the Scott Monument.” Dorcas gazes up at the impossibly dark monument that sits to the side of the busy street they’ve been walking on. The gothic architecture is gorgeous, and sort of reminds her of Hogwarts, in a way. “And there’s the National Gallery,” Dorcas follows Marlene’s pointing finger, “and Princes Street gardens, and up there-” Dorcas follows her across a crowded street crossing, “is the castle.”

“Wow.” Edinburgh Castle isn’t too far away, but it still looks ominous while silhouetted against the light grey sky. “Can we check it out?” Marlene gives her a curious glance. 

“You don’t want to drag your luggage all about. We can sightsee tomorrow, don’t you think? Weather’s supposed to be nicer, anyways. Some sun.” 

“It’s right there, though! How far is your house?” Marlene’s face takes on some soft understanding that Dorcas doesn’t understand. 

“We won’t be using muggle transport to get back home, you know. It won’t take but ten minutes to get there.” Now Dorcas just feels stupid. It’s not Marlene’s fault at all, reminding Dorcas that even in a big city full of muggles, there’s always wizarding transportation to make things more efficient. After her decidedly muggle train ride that had to have amused Marlene to no end, Dorcas had been expecting they’d take a bus back to Marlene’s house.

And they do, mind you. Just not an ordinary bus.

Dorcas has never seen the Knight Bus before and tries not to look too astounded when the massive triple decker, violently purple bus comes speeding down the street at an alarming rate and jerks to a screeching stop in front of them. 

A conductor steps out of the bus with a lit cigarette in his mouth, looking bored at the sight of them. 

“Hello!” Marlene says. 

“Lo, d’you need me to take your trunk?” He’s a young man, greasy and sort of scruffy looking, and smells strongly of cigarette smoke as he approaches Dorcas, who nods and lets him lug her bag onto the bus. “Where’re you two going?” He asks as Dorcas climbs on behind Marlene, eyes widening as she takes in the glitzy, glittering chandelier and the massive interior of the bus that looks like a cozy parlor room.

“Just to Stockbridge.” 

“Ah, did you hear that, Ernie?” The conductor calls. “Stockbridge!” 

“Loud and clear, Tim!” The driver (named Ernie, apparently), seems to magic the door closed and puts the bus into drive. With a loud bang, the bus whizzes off down the street and Dorcas falls backwards into an armchair while Marlene grabs onto a pole and makes pleasant conversation with Tim the conductor as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. 

“How much will it be?”

“Just a sickle each, for it’s not far at all.” Dorcas is only half listening to their conversation and has her face pressed to the glass, watching Edinburgh through a blur of motion. The bus moves so jerkily and fast that she’s sure it has to be enchanted to have a repelling charm on muggle traffic, because she’s already counted five would-be traffic accidents if not for the fact that cars seem to just bounce off of the side of the Knight Bus. 

Dorcas would ask Marlene about the magic of it all, but she holds back because she knows Tim would look at her down the bridge of his spotty nose and sniff at her, asking something about being a muggle with a disdain all too familiar. The main reason Dorcas stops herself is because Marlene’s laughing with Tim and she looks gorgeous.

It’s all too casual, the way Marlene does it. She doesn’t only  _ look  _ gorgeous, she  _ is  _ gorgeous in these casual performative motions that lets Dorcas know she isn’t aware anyone’s watching her. Blonde hair glowing despite the apparent lack of sunshine, pink lips drawn back in a smile, eyes crinkled as she laughs something that Dorcas wishes she could record to play back for the rest of time. Saving Marlene in her memory.

It’s ruined when the bus screeches to a sudden halt and Marlene flies forward, abandoning her position wrapped around the pole as she slams into the rickety staircase leading upstairs. 

“Whoa!” She shouts in surprise, laughing as she pulls back from the stairs, glancing around. “I reckon we’ve made it.” 

“Hope you’ve enjoyed your trip, thanks for riding the Knight Bus, and we hope to see you again,” Tim recites as he drops Dorcas’s bags on the curb, showing a gap toothed grin to the pair of them before an almighty bang echoes around the street as the bus disappears in a violet blur. They’re left on a bright suburban street which Dorcas looks around at with breathless intrigue. 

“You’ve never taken the Knight Bus before?” Marlene asks casually as they set off down the street.

“Nope.”

“Sorry, then. Must’ve been quite a shock.” Dorcas nods at that, their journey  _ had _ been somewhat alarming, but at least she doesn’t get motion sick. The jerky hot train ride up from Sunderland would have done her in instantly. “And here’s my house!” It’s a freestanding home, unlike Dorcas’s cramped flat in Sunderland, with a wild green front garden. 

Dorcas peers at all the plants growing with interest while Marlene prattles on about the current inhabitants of the house.

“Ollie’s still in Chicago, mum keeps begging him to come home and visit but he’s working  _ ever _ so hard, apparently, and he’s making loads of money because the Americans just aren’t up to par with Arithmancy, I reckon. He might start training Curse Breakers, which would be properly exciting! We’re planning to go visit him over Christmas, but he says it’ll be wicked cold.”

“What, colder than here?”

“ _ Way  _ colder. Anyways, Katie’s here with her boyfriend and I think they’re bound to be engaged any day now, so get on their good side and you might be invited to the wedding. Frazer’s home as well, but everyone’s still at work, you know, but I reckon they’ll be home now for dinner.” Marlene opens the door and lets Dorcas walk in first, gazing in astonishment as she enters the house. 

“Mum! We’re home!” There’s a broom sweeping the floor unaided by any human hands, and a few paper airplanes whizzing about overhead. Dorcas sees photos in picture frames moving, laughing, and waving, and is shocked to see portraits and paintings with their own moving aspects; a flowing river has water that actually moves, a landscape painting has grasses softly blowing in the wind.

“Hello sweetie! Hello Dorcas!” Dorcas turns and is immediately swept up in a hug by a tall blonde woman. “How was your trip? Trains ran okay? I always get worried that they’ll crash, you know, I’ve never actually taken one myself.” 

“Yeah, erm, yeah the trains were fine. A bit slow, but fine.” Marlene rolls her eyes at Dorcas’s abridged version of her traveling tales. 

“Well, come in, come in!” Mrs. McKinnon beckons them further into the house. “Marlene can show you up to her room and you can unpack, Katie’s made some smashing swiss rolls that you should try, and Chris will be back any second now, clock says he’s traveling,” she gestures widely at a clock on the wall with each member of the McKinnon family and their apparent ‘statuses’ on it, “so dinner will be on in an hour, maybe less. And welcome, Dorcas! We’re so pleased to have you!”

“Thank you for having me!” Dorcas choruses back, a little overwhelmed by the energy and liveliness of the house. Marlene is subject to a hug and kiss on both cheeks from her mum, and then pulls Dorcas upstairs to follow her.

“Ollie’s room is there- but he’s hardly ever here so we just use it for storage purposes mainly.” Dorcas can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “Katie’s is here- but she and Henry are probably shagging right now so best to leave them be-”

“Hey! I heard that!” Comes a loud voice, and Katie’s door is thrown open to reveal another Marlene lookalike. Her blonde hair is wavy, her nose upturned, and she wears a caramel colored jacket. “Dorcas, is it?” Katie asks. “I’m Katie.” She extends a hand and Dorcas shakes it. Marlene’s older sister excludes an air of importance, and Dorcas chalks it up to her working for the Prophet. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you. Henry’s not here at the moment, got called off for work, but he’ll probably be back for dinner. Anyways.” Katie folds her arms. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“You know we will!” Marlene smiles at her sister and continues upstairs, although from the outside, Dorcas is sure the house is only two stories. “Frazer’s in there, but he’s been working the night shifts recently and is probably sleeping,” she explains as they pass another doorway. 

“What does he do?”

“He’s a farmer and herbologist, so right now he’s been gathering and studying Devil’s Snare. Can’t properly work with it in sunlight, you know.”

“Ah.”

“Here’s me!” Finally, they’ve reached Marlene’s bedroom. “Mum and dad added on the extra level when we all wanted our own bedrooms, was much easier than we thought it would be.” Dorcas feels a pang of envy, she’s been sharing a bedroom with her younger sister ever since Alexandra was born, but doesn’t mention it. 

Marlene’s room is a perfect representation of her, and Dorcas has been provided a very comfortable looking mattress on the floor right next to Marlene’s bed. It’s home until Hogwarts, at least. Best she can get. 

**m**

The sun comes out after dinnertime, and Dorcas is insistent on teaching Marlene how to skateboard. Marlene’s seen Nate Neary with his own skateboard around Hogwarts before, rolling through the halls on the board with its wheels usually tracked with mud, most often followed by a shouting Filch or being called after by an upset professor. 

These occurrences have not led Marlene to ever feel the need to try out the muggle contraption, but Dorcas opens up her suitcase and  _ engorgios  _ the board back to its rightful size, scoffing when Marlene asks her about doing magic outside of school.

“This house is  _ buzzing  _ with magic, d’you think the Ministry will notice a few extra spells coming out of here?” Dorcas asks, straightening up with a colorful, painted skateboard in her grasp. 

“Did you paint that?” Marlene asks, choosing not to pursue the topic of underage magic. Dorcas holds out the board, smiling as she looks at it.

“Some, but Mary did a lot. She’s ace at art.”

“She is.” Marlene agrees quietly, wondering if this is her weak attempt at putting off what is inevitable. 

“Alright, enough stalling! Let’s ride!” Down and outside on the street, Marlene frowns as her friend demonstrates riding the board. Dorcas puts one sneaker on the board and kicks off a few times down the street before bringing her other foot onto the board and leaning forwards as a means to steer as she disappears down a curve. Marlene hears the rasp of the wheels in the distance, and it’s not long at all before the brunette girl is kicking her way back up the street, brown eyes bright as she balances on her deck.

“Want to see a trick?” She calls out, kicking past Marlene and encircling her on the board.

“As long as you don’t hurt yourself!” 

“Ha! Watch!” Marlene doesn't know if Dorcas means  _ watch me hurt myself  _ or  _ watch my trick  _ but she looks at her anyways, watching as her friend positions her feet on the deck and then pushes one end down before jumping- the board lifting off the ground with her. 

“Woo! Didn’t know if I’d pull it off!”

“What’s that called?” Marlene asks weakly as Dorcas tries the move again, clattering back to earth after another successful attempt.

“An ollie. Ha- just like your brother.”

“Just like.” Dorcas hops off the board and stomps on the back of it, holding onto the other edge of it. 

“Your turn!” 

“Ahh,” Marlene begins, taking a step back as Dorcas takes one forward. “I’m scared.” Dorcas frowns at her, tilting her head to the side and doing a half pout that turns Marlene’s heart melty and warm. 

“You’re a  _ beater  _ for Gryffindor, don’t tell me you’re scared of a skateboard!”

“It’s different!”

“We’ll take it easy, Marls. Just stand on it for starters, yeah?” Marlene isn’t weak enough to protest just standing on the deck and hesitantly lays a foot on it when Dorcas drops it back onto the ground. Marlene rolls the board under her and glances up at Dorcas, who nods encouragingly and holds out her hands. “I’ll hold onto you.”

“Cheers for that.” Marlene puts both feet on the board and holds her hands out in front of her, feeling Dorcas’s warm hands link with hers. “Can you-” Marlene cuts herself off, blushing and wobbling shakily on the deck. 

“Can I what?”

“Like,  _ properly  _ hold me?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Dorcas lets go of her hands and Marlene pitches forward nervously, only to be caught by Dorcas’s hands around her waist. Marlene holds back a gasp, and instead laughs when Dorcas rocks her side to side, sending the board rolling appropriately under Marlene’s feet. Admittedly, she doesn’t make much progress learning to skateboard that evening. It’s not exactly her passion, but she’ll watch Dorcas kick about with that easy grin on her face for the end of time if it comes down to it. 

That night, Dorcas falls asleep before Marlene, tired from a day of muggle travel. Marlene watches her in the hazy darkness of her bedroom. Eyes closed, dark hair wavy around her- pooled on the pillow. Her full lips are a small ways parted, and Marlene lies on her side and watches Dorcas breathe as though it isn’t decidedly creepy. The dark warmth of the bedroom is a safety for them, and when Marlene finally falls asleep, all she can wish for is that her friend’s arms were still around her waist. 

They spent the whole next day exploring Edinburgh. The morning is dotted with hazy rain and so they spend it in the National Gallery. Dorcas is agreeable about doing anything, even if it’s just looking at art, and Marlene gets her own personal thrill about being able to stand next to her, even if it’s in silence while regarding paintings. The sun comes out after they eat lunch and they walk up to the castle where Dorcas is apparently fascinated by the history of it. 

“Sunderland’s so bloody  _ boring _ ,” she complains as they walk back down towards St. Giles’s Cathedral. “Absolutely nothing to look at. Do you know what we’ve got?”

“What?”

“A bridge. A ruddy bridge. And do you know what it’s main use is, other than driving over?”

“What?”

“Suicide.” Dorcas barks a laugh and Marlene starts a bit at her edgy humor. “People  _ love  _ throwing themselves off of it. Some primal attraction. Can you believe it?”

“As long as you don’t go over it.”

“I’d never give into the true calling of Sunderland City. Either get obsessed with football or jump off a bridge.”

“Those are your only two options?”

“Or move away!” Marlene decides that in the unlikely case that she’s ever invited to visit Dorcas, her first order of business will be to suggest spending time elsewhere. “And I’m choosing the third option, mind you. Moving out as soon as school’s done.” 

Marlene hasn’t much considered where she’ll go after Hogwarts ends. It’s all seemed so far away to her, and she’s shocked to remember that she’s entering her fifth year at school. How had time flown by so fast? 

“Where are you going to go?” Dorcas shrugs, blue eyes taking in the sight of the cathedral while Marlene takes in the sight of  _ her.  _

“I was thinking up here, maybe.” 

“What?” Dorcas turns to look at her now, eyes sparkling with energy. 

“Could go down to London and live with Mary, but I’d lose the Northern accent protecting me. There’s no way I’m going to bloody Black Country with Lily, but she’s probably going to go down to London anyways. So north over south, eh? What do you say? Could I kick it in Scotland?” Marlene feels as though her heart has stopped. 

“Yeah! Yeah, we could get a flat up here! Or- Glasgow’s cheaper, but it’s shite.” Dorcas laughs. 

“Don’t want to live somewhere shite for the second time in my life. Besides, Edinburgh’s quite cool.” She turns back to look at the castle and then slides her hand through Marlene’s, all casual in this affectionate, friendly way that Marlene has no proper way to decode. 

The thing about Dorcas is that she’s very forward with affection. 

Marlene saves her closeness for people who are known to receive it. Family, friends who are equal to family (Lily, Mary, Dorcas), and Remus, of course, but past that- it’s all a bit of grey territory. And the affection itself matters, too. Marlene doesn’t think she’d wrap her arms around Mary’s waist and hug the girl close to her, moving her back and forth and even if it’s just bloody  _ skateboarding,  _ it feels a little more than platonic and Marlene finds herself presently at war with herself because bloody  _ hell,  _ Dorcas never fails to captivate her.

When they get home, Dorcas insists on doing Marlene’s makeup. There’s no real sense in protesting when it comes to Dorcas, and she sits Marlene down on her bed and produces a case of makeup that Marlene’s seen used on Lily and Mary a good many times. 

“You know I’m just going to wipe it off,” Marlene complains as Dorcas sits cross legged in front of her on the bed, tutting loudly at her remarks. 

“What a waste! And stop talking. And stop  _ blinking,  _ Marls, I want to try something new.”

“New?”

“No talking! Let’s do this silently!” Marlene groans out loud (it’s not  _ words  _ so it must count as okay) and Dorcas goes in with some dark eyeshadow, rubbing it around Marlene’s unfortunately twitchy eyelid. She does her eyes, eyebrows, rubs some stuff around on her cheeks, and then sets in with her lips. 

There’s something about the feeling of Dorcas swiping the tube of lipstick along her lips that makes Marlene feel warm and weird. The heat of her breath, the tilt of her head, the depth in her eyes; Marlene closes her own because what could she do otherwise? 

The lipstick disappears, for a moment Marlene can breathe, and then is replaced by Dorcas’s lips. She kisses soft at first. Like she’s just trying this out and would pull back if it doesn’t go over well, but Marlene feels as though she’s been thrown off of a cliff, like she’s fallen off her broom, like dizzying, spinning vertigo and there’s nothing else to do but kiss back. 

It’s less of a snog and more of a deep, sweet kiss and when Dorcas pulls back, her lips are the same color as Marlene’s. 


	60. [HOLS '75] Can't Kick Up The Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some sexual content in the beginning, and a little bit of gore/brief mentions of self harm by the end

_ day by day we grew to love this place, and where i make my grave my anchor lays _

_ the sound of my youth echoes out through these empty streets _

_ i guess i can’t kick up the roots: it’s home and that’s the truth _

**r**

Remus spends the first half of his summer holidays getting to understand male anatomy more than he ever has before in his life by way of sexual experimentation with Sion Pembroke. 

It’s probably a distraction (it absolutely  _ is  _ a distraction) from the fact that he’s arrived home to find his mum actually and properly ill, essentially bedridden and in such pain that she keeps drinking just so she can get to sleep. Just to keep the pain away. 

And his dad tells him it’s breast cancer and it’s metastasized and there’s not much they can do so Remus decides the best method of coming to terms with it is not to, and goes about ignoring it the way that his dad has decided to ignore his lycanthropy.

And Sion, of course, provides a reasonable distraction.

They get to making out in the fields in the dark when no one will find them, or in that thicket of trees where they first smoked together, two years ago. Sion’s just so  _ warm,  _ never too demanding or assertive. Neither is Remus. They just do what the other wants, and it’s not long before they’re undoing each other's trousers, Sion slipping his hand into Remus’s boxers and touching him and it’s new, it’s different, and it’s  _ mental.  _

It’s not the same as doing it alone- not when Sion’s right in front of him, eyes warm, jaw sharp and his hand pumping down below, and Remus comes when he can’t think straight, sees stars and gasps breathily over Sion’s shoulder. 

His first time takes place in July, on a cool night when the window of his bedroom is open and him and Sion giggle uselessly with the secrecy of it all before laughter turns to kisses and they end up naked and vulnerable on Remus’s bed, losing themselves in each other. 

Sion asks if he’s ever done it before and Remus says  _ no,  _ Sion asks if it’s okay and Remus says  _ yes,  _ so Sion tears the package of a condom with his teeth and produces a bottle of lube from his worn out bag, the one that he steals things from shops in, and then he’s on top of Remus and then he’s  _ inside  _ Remus and it’s the strangest, greatest sensation in the entire world. 

Sion’s very gentle about it, which is a relief since it sort of hurts. In a good way, though. It’s a warm, filling, pleasureable hurt. Both of them spend the grand majority of the affair keeping themselves from crying out since Remus’s parents are asleep right down the hall, and when Remus comes, Sion presses his warm hand over his mouth so he doesn’t moan his name for all of Northern Wales to hear. 

Afterwards, they jostle for space in the windowsill to share a fag. Remus is a little shaky, a little achy, but he falls asleep with Sion right next to him, warm in bed, and when he wakes up, the other boy is still there. It’s magical. Sion grins at him over his bowl of cereal down in the kitchen, thanks Lyall for letting him stay over, and kisses Remus on the empty street corner before telling him he thinks he loves him.

Remus wanders to work later that day with his lips still buzzing from that last kiss. He drops about three flowerpots, upends a bag of mulch all over himself, and nurses two bee stings from wandering headlong into plants he should have been keeping track of. All in all, he’s absolutely head over heels and smitten, honestly, for Sion. They keep at it all summer- snogging, playing football, shagging, biking around the countryside, getting each other off, going to parties in Mold and Wrexham and Penyffordd.

The day before August’s full moon, Remus takes a cocktail of tablets to get him through the day and spends the first half of the day swimming at the rec center. Exercise, especially the weightless effort of swimming, eases the pain of transformations, and after about an hour of swimming laps, him and Sion stretch out in the weak Welsh sunshine in a grassy area not far from the pool. Remus keeps his shirt off because Sion’s never said a word about the scars- not the ones on his chest, or on his arms, or the worst ones on his thighs that he’d cut into himself with a gift from Sion. 

Those scars are the ones Remus is honestly the most ashamed of- they’re thick, raised, and pink. Clearly evident even though they blend in with the pale skin of his upper thighs, but Sion had ran his hands over them during sex so Remus knows that he knows. Just doesn’t mention it.

“So you’re leaving, like?” Sion asks gently. “Day after tomorrow?” Like he’s had August 23rd marked on his calendar. 

“Aye.” 

“Are you…” Sion trails off. “Are we… is this, are we… well. We aren’t exclusive, like, are we?” They’re both lying on their backs, which Remus is glad for, because he doesn’t want to look at Sion while they discuss matters like this. Remus had explained earlier in the summer that he and Marlene had broken up and Sion had been easily thrilled about it, but now he’s thinking about a year ahead of him without Remus in it.

“Erm.” Remus knows that he’s not getting Hyatt Ibex into bed anytime soon, and there’s no one else he’s presently obsessed with, so he hesitates. “Are  _ you _ going to be with anyone else, like? Realistically?”

“Yeah.” Sion answers easily. “No offense, Re.” 

“None taken. Then let’s keep it open, yeah? No rules or anything. Just be careful, you know. Don’t get diseased.” Sion snorts.

“Gotcha.” They lie in silence for a while, watching the clouds pass overhead. Remus feels warm, and happy, and content. He never feels this way before full moons. It’s something about the way Sion doesn’t know what will happen tonight. Sion thinks Remus will lie safe, asleep in bed, and dream of him.

“I love you too.” Remus says after a while. “A lot.” He finally turns his head to look at Sion, who’s smiling up at the clouds. Sion becomes aware of the gaze on him and turns his head back, getting grass in his hair. His brown eyes are so warm in the sunlight, and his cheeks are flushed red. Sion doesn’t reply, just takes Remus’s hand, and both of them turn their blushing faces back to the clouds with their hands intertwined in the grass between them. 

**j**

Even though Peter lives right down the street from James, it’s Sirius who’s the first to arrive at the Potter estate in mid-August, and he’s lost that bright eyed hope that had carried him through the end of fourth year. And, consequently, his hair.

He appears tinged green in the fireplace and steps out of the ash already bashful, running a hand along the hastily shaved, choppy short hair that leaves him looking half bald and, incredibly, like a baghead. 

“Holy Christ.” James announces, glad his father isn’t there to reprimand him for taking the lord’s name in vain. “What happened to you?” Sirius tries for a smile, but it falls decidedly short. 

“My mum got tired of my hair. New look for summer, eh?”

“You look like a scalping gone wrong!” 

“Cheers.” Sirius’s thin, pale face is humorless and sad, so James drops the jokes and instead thinks of a possible solution to his friend’s recent hair loss. It turns out to be less than hard- since Fleamont is the inventor of a hair potion company and has to take one look at Sirius before disappearing into his study and returning with a vial of orangey Manegro potion that looks sort of like Firewhiskey.

Not that James would know, of course. He still puts on the picture of innocence where his parents are concerned, and despite all the detentions and letters home from Professor McGonagall, his parents seem to hold onto some naive belief that their son is, and will always be, the picture of innocent perfection. 

James doesn’t know what hopes they hold out for Sirius. He’s in a contrasting mood- one of those where James isn’t quite sure how to act around him, and once Peter arrives, Sirius’s halfway smiles die and he ends up snappy and short, obviously sensitive about his new hairstyle and to James, it seems he’s still recovering from his time at home. 

It’s not like the events that transpire at 12 Grimmauld Place have ever been explicitly mentioned to James, but he picks up on them. There was the one winter Sirius arrived at his house bruised and pale with angry tales of his mum’s anger with him, but after that, he’d become more and more closed off about his home as he’d grown older. 

Truths had turned into jokes, any expressed concerns had been easily brushed off, and from what James can think, he hasn’t heard a single conveyed worry from his best mate about home in over a years’ time. 

But James can tell there’s something wrong.

Sirius gets this hunted look after spending time at home. Even though it had only been a little over a month, he looks like he’s lost weight, and his face is pale and haggard- worried. There’s something jumpy about his behavior and James sees that he’s often lost in thought and when jerked out of it, he sometimes seems as though he’s been off in another world and forgotten about the people around him. 

Remus writes them a letter saying that the full moon had been rough so he’d arrive tomorrow instead of today. His handwriting is shaky and his ever exhausted owl has to lie around James’s house for a while, recovering from the journey from Wales, so James assumes he’d been sent off in quite a rush. 

“That stupid bloody bird.” Sirius comments thoughtfully as James, Peter, and him pause their game of Exploding Snap to glance over at the owl which is perched pathetically on the windowsill, displaying posture bad enough to rival Remus’s. For the record, Remus doesn’t receive much mail at school from home, and when he does, it’s never the old brown owl who brings it. Maybe his parents post it the muggle way.

“What about it?” James asks. 

“Always looks on the brink of death, doesn’t he? He collapsed on my floor a few years ago. Can’t seem to get the job done properly.” Peter, who had been the last person still engaged in the game, now turns and examines the owl himself. All three of them stare at Remus’s bird, almost as though they’re waiting for him to transform into their friend and crack some joke, grinning broadly in that familiar way that ties them to him. 

No such thing. 

Sirius sighs dejectedly as James glances back at their card game, not in the mood to play anymore. Then, an idea.

“Have either of you been practicing the transformations over the summer?” James asks, getting an eye roll and a scoff from Sirius while Peter just shrugs. “No? Why don’t we go out into the yard, try it out? Have some fun? We practiced enough at school, I think we’ll have it done perfectly any day now.” Peter looks nervous about this, but Sirius gets that glint in his eyes that alerts James to the fact that he’s had a good idea. 

They wait until James’s parents have gone to bed before sneaking out into the expansive yard. The grass is wet with dew and sparkles under the light of the moon. Still nearly full, huge and bright white. James looks at it and thinks about Remus in his bed at home, scratched and bitten and torn, in pieces because of it. 

“Ready?” James asks the other two. He’s always the first to initiate the transformations. Sirius nods, Peter shrugs, James smiles. Then they transform. 

They get closer and closer every time. 

For James, it’s always a weird mismatch of antlers (he’d perfected the antlers, but that’s about all) and hooves. His mind gets foggy and confused, and it’s difficult to imagine the stag in his mind when all he can really think about is the warmth of the nighttime breeze, the fresh smell of dew-wet grass, and the earthy, piney scent of the forest. 

Tonight, Sirius starts barking and chasing the tail that he had also perfected, and Peter- well. Peter turns into a rat. James doesn’t register this properly in his mind (mostly because he can’t register  _ anything  _ properly in his mind), but he realizes that his friend is gone and a small, brown rat has taken his place. 

It’s not something that James can process until he transforms back into a proper human and Peter sits in the grass, gasping for breath and trembling all over. 

“You did it!” James whisper-shouts, not keen on waking up his parents. “Merlin, Pete, that was amazing!” He descends into the wet grass next to his friend, clapping him on the back and, in a moment of prideful happiness, sweeping him up in a great big hug. 

Sirius isn’t nearly as excited for Peter as James is, and seems jealous about the whole situation, but congratulates him all the same. It’s progress. It might make Sirius angry, but seeing Peter complete his animagus transformation fully gives James intense hope that he’ll be able to do it tomorrow, or the day after. 

When Remus arrives the next day, looking dead tired but decidedly appreciative to see them, James is grateful to finally have the four of them back together. Sirius seems to find intense relief in Remus’s presence, and the two boys spend most of the afternoon smoking in James’s garden while talking- apparently a private conversation that James isn’t included in. 

Honestly, he doesn’t really mind it so much. And he’s got Peter, anyways. Peter is James’s oldest friend and James trusts him maybe even more so than Sirius, who is wonderful in his own way but can be prone to letting others down. 

Still, sometimes, James is left with a strange, left out feeling that comes with not relating to Remus or Sirius. They suffer, they have it hard, and they share those secrets with each other, find refuge in a familiar story, have back and forths about tales from their lives and it’s not a competition, not ever, but James would be out of the running from the get go. He would never understand what it’s like. 

This gap between comprehensions is further made apparent that night. James is lying in bed, lights off, nothing but thoughts of waves breaking on the ocean in his mind while in a session of deep meditation when there’s a knock at the door. He doesn’t hear it at first, just pretends it’s some sound coming from farther down his imaginary beach, but the knock comes again and he sighs, opening his eyes to stare at the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

Sirius never knocks, and to be honest, neither does Peter, so this means it’s either one of James’s parents or Remus Lupin himself. And knowing the circumstances, it’s got to be Remus.

“Come in!” James calls, sitting up in bed and flicking on the lamp by his bed, putting on his glasses and checking the watch lying on the table to read that it’s half two in the morning. Remus really needs to get his sleep schedule under control.

The door opens gently and James sees the lanky, timid figure of his friend appear in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he says immediately upon seeing James blinking at him tiredly- hair even more of a mess than usual. 

“Already apologizing and I don’t even know what for!” Remus blushes, looks around distractedly, and then takes a step inside James’s bedroom.

“Erm, well, I’m sorry for waking you up.” He pauses. “Do you have any dittany?”

“Dittany?” James asks blearily. “At two in the morning? What’s wrong?” Remus looks uncomfortable.

“I’ve got some… you know, injuries, from the moon. That I’ve got to take care of.”

“And you’ve only just remembered now?” Remus frowns at him defensively and James realizes he’s only being so tetchy because he was about to fall asleep in the peaceful oceanland he’d created in his head. Remus had probably been up talking to Sirius for hours, and had only just remembered to clean up his wounds before bed. 

“Sorry, mate, yeah. My mum’s got some, I’ll have to sneak into her bathroom.” James gets out of bed and pushes his glasses up his nose as Remus stands back to let him through the door. “You sure you need it right now?”

“I wouldn’t’ve asked otherwise.” His voice is quiet, obviously apologetic, and James lets the topic drop as he walks down the hall to his parents’ bedroom. He doesn’t light his wand so not to wake up his parents, and leaves Remus in the hallway while he fumbles around the medicine cabinet in the darkness, finally finding a bottle of dittany and tiptoeing out to present it to Remus, who looks as though he’s swallowed something distasteful.

“I forgot to ask,” he nearly whispers, “but d’you have any bandages?” James gawps at him. 

“Are you seri-” 

“Nevermind, honestly, there’s a spell I can try-”

“We can’t do magic outside school, Moony.” Remus looks dejected. James hands him the bottle, feeling once again rather annoyed. “What’s up, then? What’s wrong with you?” 

“It’s just some scratches, like. I’ll be fine. Thanks.” Remus lifts the bottle of dittany and turns down the hallway, quietly shutting himself in the bathroom while James sighs defeatedly and resorts to do another creep-around in the pitch black of his parents’ attached bathroom, finding a box of plasters, and letting the cupboard bang shut loudly in a show of tired carelessness that gets him scampering out of the room before they can wake up.

For the record, James  _ does _ usually try to remember polite things like not slamming doors and knocking before entering, things like that, but spending the last four years at a boarding school with two other impolite boys and one whose manners haven’t made much of an impact on James has left him forgetting on this August morning. 

He pulls the bathroom door open to see Remus dabbing dittany onto his wrist- where the sight of the wound causes James to gasp “whoa!” in the same instant that Remus utters the same word, jumping backwards and dropping the bottle onto the floor, sending it shattering down in a mix of dittany and tinted glass.

“Christ- James!”

“What the hell?!” James shuts the door behind him and gapes openly at the dark red gouge on Remus’s wrist that looks irritated, sore, and well on its way to infection. There’s some clear discharge coming from the wound and Remus attempts to tug his sleeve down before realizing it would be more painful, and he leans back against the sink, eyes clearly hurt and posture defensive. “Did you do that?” James points at the deep red, runny gash on Remus’s wrist. “I thought you were done with- with, you know, with-” Remus cuts him off before he manages to get the words out.

“It wasn’t- it’s not  _ intentional,  _ like _. _ It’s from the moon.” Remus lets out a very shaky breath. James realizes only now how much pain his friend must be in. “Christ, butt. Jesus.  _ Reparo _ .” The bottle of dittany mends itself and Remus hisses in pain while bending to pick it up, springing James back into action.

“I got you the plasters, mate, I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked-”

“Yeah.” Remus snaps. “You should have.”

“What happened?” Remus doesn’t reply, instead slops dittany onto the wound with shaking hands. Both boys watch as the discharge lessens around the cut, and it shrinks while scabbing, then turning a darker pinkish red as the scab magically heals. Remus holds his hand out for the bandages and James gives him a plaster, watching as he undoes it and then wraps it around his wrist. The whole scabbed scar loops around his wrist. Like he’d been tied up. 

“Moony…” Remus turns his body away from James as he addresses the other wrist. James gets the picture, then. Two badly gouged out wrists, torn up and bloody all the way around. “Did they tie you up?” 

“Shackled,” Remus chokes curtly, bandaging his other wrist in a rather rough fashion. He looks up at James. Under the bathroom light, his eyes are dark brown, and the bags under them worse than ever. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Okay.”

“Sorry, butt, it’s just-” Remus cuts himself off. “Difficult.” It’s this moment, at two in the morning in his bathroom, James realizes that whether they’ve perfected the animagus process or not, it’s become much too serious to let fall apart. They’d spent months practicing their transformations, and they can’t let it all go to waste when Remus’s parents are handcuffing him in their cellar because they’re so afraid of what he becomes when the moon rounds out in the sky and lights up a night that’s torn and shattered by the howls of what their son turns into. 

“Remus.” 

“What?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘butt’?” Remus looks surprised, then smiles. Laughs. Which is a relief to see. 

“Sorry, mate! It’s Welsh, it’s slang, I guess. I didn’t even realize it- ha! Sorry!” 

“That’s alright.” James shakes his head and smiles too, glad that they’ve moved on to something a little more lighthearted to end the scene that they’ve just undergone. For the rest of the summer, they don’t have any more sad moments like that. 

The next morning, they get their letters from school detailing their classes for fifth year and requirements of things to buy. James receives an additional letter from Izzy Adams, ecstatic that she’d been made Quidditch captain for the third year in a row and plans to keep the team exactly the same (given no one quits) and will most  _ definitely  _ be the one cementing their Quidditch Cup win once again.

When Remus opens his own letter at the breakfast table, the only one other than him who notices the golden badge fall into his cereal bowl is Euphemia. 

“Is that- Remus- is that a prefect badge!?” She shrieks while Remus turns an alarming shade of magenta. “Take it out of the-” She’s the one to shove her hand into his bowl of cornflakes while Sirius gapes across the table at James, who’s just as alarmed. 

“No  _ way,  _ Moony, there’s no way they made you prefect!” James shouts, snatching the badge out of his mother’s hands. 

“James, be polite!” 

“Holy Merlin, look at this!”

“Let me see!” Sirius leans across the table, upending a jam jar, and takes the badge to inspect for himself.

“Is it real?” Peter wonders out loud while Remus watches them in wide eyed amazement. 

“Oh my god, it  _ is  _ real! Take a look at this, Pete!” Sirius tosses the badge to Peter who fumbles it before taking a good, hard look at it.

“Pass me your glasses, James, I’ve got to fully examine it-” James laughs loudly, making to pass his thick glasses to Peter, but Remus scoffs loudly and snatches the badge back from Peter with a loud “give it here!” 

They all fall silent while Remus regards the badge momentarily with an expression of disdain. 

“Well, if no one else will say it, I will!” Euphemia huffs, still hovering over the breakfast table. “Congratulations, Remus! You should write to your parents, I’m sure they’ll be very proud of you.” That’s what gets the blush off of Remus’s face for good, and his expression twists uncomfortably as he fingers the badge in his hands.

“Yeah, I’ll send them a letter. Christ, this is a surprise and a half.” Euphemia scoffs laughingly at Sirius’s “I’ll say” and ruffles Remus’s hair in a mothering fashion before leaving them to continue their breakfast. 

The rest of their summer is consolidated into that final, blissful week in August. 

They explore forests, spend long days out of the house wandering outside the countryside, or else playing Quidditch in James’s backyard. There’s a familial safety he associates with it just being the four of them. James, Peter, Sirius, Remus. The marauders. No girls, no Snivellus, no Quidditch or classes or drama. Just four boys (three of them almost animagi, one a werewolf) who seem to have found the most unlikely friendship in each other and somehow wouldn’t pass it up for the world. 


	61. [YR 5] Lost Cause / Long Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for some reason i keep about 15 prewritten chapters between me and the chapters i'm posting, and i'm straight up addicted to writing the part i'm at now. (end of 5th yr... but not exactly the typical events) BECAUSE i can't stop writing, i also can't stop posting, so here, have another chapter! (even though you got one less than 24 hrs ago!)

_ i don’t blame you for being you, but you can’t blame me for hating it  _

**l**

Lily Evans hadn’t known true anger until James Potter called her a swot after seeing her in her pointed Prefect hat on the Hogwarts Express. It would have been bad form to tackle him then and there, shouting about how much of a dumb, useless jock he was and so instead Lily had stared for a moment, perfectly incensed, and then continued on her way down the train while Potter and Black talked loudly, making Lily feel both uncomfortable and, in a way, evil.

Remus is late to the Prefect meeting, as he’s often late to everything, and the whole car of Prefects turn around to look at him as he barges in, breathless and apologetic. He’s not wearing the pointed hat that the rest of them have on, and in fact, hasn’t even changed out of his shabby muggle clothes for the meeting.

“Am I late?” He asks cluelessly, evidently knowing the answer before the question leaves his lips.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Snarls the Head Girl, a Slytherin called Myrtice Bulstrode. Head Boy this year is Fabian Prewett who, unlike his twin brother, seems to have some sense of morality and smiles at red faced Remus who is the center of attention. “Prefects should always be on time to meetings, even new ones.” 

Lily, who’d been sat next to Emmeline Vance, grins at Remus and he trips over his feet while making his way to their table, sitting down rather clumsily and banging his knee on the table before Myrtice starts talking again (though not after shooting a dirty look his way). 

Lily loses track of Myrtice almost as soon as she starts talking, for Emmeline has learned across the table to whisper in Remus’s direction.

“I can’t believe you’re a Prefect, Lupin!”

“Me neither,” he whispers back, grudgingly. “I almost wrote McGonagall asking if she’d made a mistake. But still,” he shrugs, smiling loosely, “there are perks.”

“Too right! You can get away with near anything, now. Any big pranks planned for the year?” 

“Secrets stay secret.” Remus mimes zipping his lips. Lily crosses her legs in the other direction, privately wishing that they would shut up so she could hear the duties that both Emmeline and Remus don’t seem to care about so much. 

“How is Sirius, these days? Still single?” 

“Oi.” Another voice interrupts their conversation, low and quiet, and both Remus and Emmeline start as Fabian interrupts them. He wags his finger back and forth, and then holds it to his lips in a ‘shh’ gesture. Lily feels a warmth of gratitude in her stomach and relaxes as Emmeline and Remus trade bashful looks before sitting back in their chairs. 

“First years are always problematic for us Prefects, so it’ll be a main duty of everyone to help them out,” Myrtice is saying. She’s stood at the front of the Prefect carriage while Fabian lounges in a chair next to her, looking presently bored. “If they’re lost, homesick, ill, whatever- be kind and understanding, yeah?” 

“I wonder if anyone’s ever called her either of those things,” Emmeline whispers across the table, earning an amused snort from Remus. 

“Now about docking house points- it’s a necessity to keep students in line. Usually five or ten points is enough to get the message across, but don’t be afraid to take more!” Remus raises his hand casually and Myrtice looks surprised when she glances over at him.

“Yes… Lupin?” She offers, and Remus nods as she guesses his name correctly.

“How many points can we deduct, reasonably?” 

“Well… if you have to go over fifty, I’m not sure what the point is.” A snicker goes up from the crowd of Prefects and Mytrice turns a faint shade of pink. “If someone’s done something bad enough, take it up with their head of house.” Remus nods, apparently satisfied, and looks thoughtful, which Lily knows is usually a bad sign. Myrtice continues about what actions are justifiable and it’s not long before Remus’s hand is in the air again. Even Fabian glances at him now.

“What can I do for you, Lupin?” Mytrice asks in a tense voice.

“Magically speaking, how do the hourglasses work? Do we have some special connection to them because we’re Prefects?” Myrtice stares at him with her mouth hanging open. A Ravenclaw clears his throat, introduces himself as Xenophelius Lovegood, and then provides a short explanation of the hourglass system to Remus, who listens with interest and then thanks him as he finishes. 

“What was that about?” Emmeline asks Remus once they’re dismissed from the meeting. There’s free food in the Prefect carriage and the three of them are loading up on sweets and pastries before making their exit. 

“Just curious.” Remus responds, casting a shrinking spell on a handful of pumpkin pasties, wrapping the miniature versions in a napkin, and stuffing them into his pocket. “How were your holidays, then?” Emmeline hasn’t much to say, and Lily hasn’t either. 

“Did you two hear about the new Minister for Magic?” Emmeline offers as they walk into the hallway. Lily doesn’t keep up with wizarding news over the summer partly for the sake of her own sanity, but feels left out when Remus engages this conversation.

“Yeah, Minchum? Seems like a hard ass.” 

“Was there an election?” Lily asks, hating feeling clueless. 

“Yeah, but Jenkins was ousted. Wasn’t up to the… you know, up to what’s happening.” Emmeline glances briefly at Lily, an awkward expression on her face, and then lights up when she finds the girls’ carriage. “And here we are! See you later, Remus.” 

“Nah, hold on.” Remus says evenly, following them into the carriage to the excited choruses of Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene. Marlene leaves her position next to Dorcas at the sight of him, and the two exchange a long hug before separating. 

“I heard you’d broken up!” Mary calls as Remus pulls back, smiling at Marlene in that kind, tender way he does so well.

“We have,” Marlene tells her, taking a step back. Lily’s sat herself by the door of the carriage. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins have been designated with train-patrol, and the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are due to do the nighttime rounds of the castle. The schedule and rota is already complicated, but Fabian had kindly told her that he could draw her up a less confusing time table in the common room tonight. 

“Just mates.” Marlene continues, glancing ever so quickly at Dorcas, and then back to Remus, who’s left the only person standing. 

“Want to sit, Remus?” Dorcas offers. 

“Nah, I’d best be getting back to my mates.”

“Of course. Give them my best!” Dorcas tells him as he leaves the carriage, waving as he disappears off down the hall. Lily’s secretly wishing that Emmeline would have left with him, since catching up with her friends isn’t the same when Emmeline’s there. Thankfully, the Hufflepuff girl cottons on once Mary gives up on conversation with her, which is evidence enough that they’ve all grown bored of her company. 

Marlene has issues with being too polite and Lily has caught her in the middle of conversations (if you can call them that) with Emmeline where Marlene hasn’t spoken in at least five minutes and has also completely lost track of the topic at hand. Mary’s simpler than that- she plainly tunes out and will usually interrupt with something that she finds worth discussing.

Once Emmeline leaves, Lily relaxes a bit more. Mary sighs openly once the carriage door slides shut again and slides down in her seat, propping her feet up on the seat across from her.

“Never a dull moment with Emmeline around, is there? Can’t imagine what it would be like to live with her, Meadowes.”

“You find ways to keep her at bay.” Dorcas responds easily. Her and Marlene sit so close together that their legs are touching- something already poetic in the way Dorcas rests her hand in Marlene’s lap, tilts her head to catch the blonde girl’s eyes, draws a smile onto her lips just with her own smile. Lily doesn’t even have to ask after watching the pair of them interact for a few moments. She just knows. 

Lily just sighs in a way that feels a bit forlorn. She tunes out a conversation that she’d never been so much of a part in and leans her head against the window, letting the thrum of the train tracks beneath her lull her back into a familiar headspace, one where she can feel nostalgic about returning to Hogwarts, oddly homesick about leaving Cokeworth behind her, and that strange half heartedness that comes with seeing Dorcas and Marlene giggling together like little kids. 

Maybe it’s the breakup of last year coming back to haunt Lily for no good reason at all, or maybe it’s this nostalgic sickness of knowing that if Mary’s got Danny Hunter and Dorcas and Marlene have each other, who does Lily have? It’s a strange, listless sort of heartbreak that she’s never really considered before. 

The strange feeling is shaken off once they return to Hogwarts. Lily hastens to remind herself that there’s things to focus on other than relationships she hasn’t yet had. The Start of Term Feast is as lively as usual, but instead of following the Gryffindor Prefects up to the common room to let the rest of them in, Lily’s once again shocked by the ever present realization that  _ she’s  _ a Prefect now. 

Lily and Remus, as the youngest Prefects, are tasked with explaining rules to the first years once they reach the common room. They look so  _ young,  _ all round faced and terrified looking. Lily feels waves of sympathy for them, remembering how lost and overwhelmed she felt as a first year. Those feelings had been neatly mixed with excitement, of course, and joy at finding easy friends in her roommates. 

“Curfew is at eight for first years,” Remus explains patiently, “so don’t be out after without an excuse or we’ll dock points, and you might even get detention.”

“What do you do in detention?” A round faced boy asks. Lily, who’s never served any, glances sideways at Remus.

“Mr. Filch has these hooks in the ceiling of his office, which you’ll get to know  _ very _ well when you’re hung by your toes from them-” 

“Remus-!”

“Joking!” Remus protests, grinning widely. “Only joking.” He tells the wide eyed group of first years. “Usually, you’ll be doing lines, cleaning something, or… well, I did a stunt of mulching with Hagrid, one year. Keep that in mind if you’re a fan of gardening. Professor McGonagall or Mr. Filch will find something suitable for your actions.”

“But be good!” Lily puts in. “You don’t want detentions! Not like Remus, here.” Remus shakes his head.

“Don’t be like me, kids.”

“But you’re a Prefect?” One of them offers.

“Ah, only at face value, I’m afraid.” Remus grins at Lily, who can’t help but smile back. “Anyways, you’ll get your timetables tomorrow at breakfast. It starts at 6:30 but ends at 8:30, so you don’t have to be there bright and early unless you feel the need. Lunch is 12 to 1 and dinner is 6 to 8. You go when you want, it isn’t required to be there the whole time.”

“Mail is delivered at breakfast,” Lily picks up.

“Usually.” Remus interrupts.

“Usually,” Lily continues through a contained giggle, knowing full well that post owls have changed their schedules according to Sirius Black’s irregular attendance of meals. “But the owls will come find you if you don’t show. That’s… that’s about it, I think?” She glances at Remus, who nods easily. 

“Any questions?” There’s quite a few, but Remus answers them diligently and with surprising patience. Finally, they lead the kids up to their dormitories. Exhausted from her day, Lily walks downstairs to the common room where her tired disposition is immediately heightened tenfold by the appearance of a windswept looking James Potter. 

“Good evening, Evans!” He says, bowing low in front of her. Lily scoffs out loud, not in the mood to deal with his theatrics. “I’d like to formally apologize for calling you a swot earlier. I think that hat was very charming. Why don’t you put it on now?” Lily frowns at him. 

“Do you need something? I’ve had a long day.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make your day even longer, no, not me. All about efficiency, aren’t I?”

“Love to see some evidence of that one,” Lily grumbles disagreeably.

“Okay, Evans, no need to be rude! It came to my attention that you and the fabled Hyatt Ibex had broken it off, so I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me on a visit to Hogsmeade at the end of the month?” 

“No.” Lily tells him without any prior consideration. Potter’s crooked grin slips from his face and he now looks quizzical. “Look, Potter, I’m not interested, okay?”

“You’re tired, Evans, maybe sleep on it? Give it a good think?” 

“I’ve just told you no, okay? I know you’re not used to hearing people tell you that, but it’s about time you’ve learned. Good ruddy night.” And she pushes past him, wondering how she’d ever lived in a world where the two of them had been friends. Chalks it up to first year naivety mixed with ignorance, and stomps up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, glad that there’s nothing to worry about in regards to her female friends, at least. 

**r**

Remus and Lily are on nighttime Prefect patrol later that week when they run into Caradoc Dearborn outside the Slytherin common room, looking perfectly suspicious and hard to pin down, as usual. Also as usual, he’s got someone with him, and today’s specimen is Mary’s current boyfriend, Danny Hunter. 

“Hallo, Remus! Hi Lily!” Caradoc says completely cordially, smiling with all his teeth while Danny hangs back a bit reluctantly. 

“Hi, Caradoc, what are you doing down here?” Lily asks him. 

“Just catching up with my mate Danny here,” Caradoc explains, slapping the Slytherin on the back. “Good chat, wasn’t it Danny?”

“ _ Great  _ chat.” Danny agrees passionately. “I’d best be off to bed, though. Goodnight!” He whispers a hushed password and shuts the common room door behind him. This leaves Remus, Lily, and Caradoc standing awkwardly together. 

“Erm.” Caradoc begins, giving Remus a wide eyed look that hinges on desperation. “Lily, do you mind if I have a quick, private talk with Remus, here?” Lily frowns mistrustfully but then nods. She wouldn’t have protested, that’s not her style, and it’d have been too awkward to tell Caradoc off. 

“I’ll catch up with you,” Remus tells her and Lily nods again, suspiciously silent, before walking off down the hall. Caradoc instantly hinges on Remus, his permanently flushed face bright with excitement.

“I’ve a business proposition for you!” He begins, loudly enough that Remus is sure Lily has heard. “God love you for being a Prefect, Remus, I swear, this is the best news I’ve ever come upon. I mean- honestly! I’ve never heard better news!”

“I’m glad.” Remus tells him in a sarcastic tone, a little miffed that he’s been interrupted while on patrol. It’s not that he’s taking his role of Prefect  _ that  _ seriously, but there’s some warm pride that comes from teary eyed first years tugging on the back of his robes in the hall to ask for directions or beg the password to the Gryffindor common room from him. Remus had briefly wondered if in the future he’d ever be dragged into a younger students’ dormitory to heal their cut up arms and tell them that they would be okay, one day.

Then he’d put those thoughts to rest.

“So, this idea mostly hinges on you being agreeable, right? I’m thinking since you’re a Prefect now, you can confiscate stuff. Fags, mostly, but any substances I might be able to sell. Danny’s helping me with weed this year, and you can provide confiscated contraband. I’ll give you each a cut of the money, if that sounds fair?” Remus considers this offer only momentarily before making a decision.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I dunno how much I’ll find, though.” Caradoc waves his uncertainty away. 

“Doesn’t matter, just bring me whatever you get your hands on.  _ Christ  _ am I happy that you’re cool, Remus. Couldn’t find a better Prefect than you!” Privately, Remus thinks that this is the opposite of what Prefects should be doing, but there’s money in it for him, and no one but Caradoc has to know.

“Just don’t go telling people about this?” Remus asks, displaying a little of his worry. 

“Ah, of course not! Just between you and I, mate. This is brilliant. Good lad.” Caradoc holds his hand out to shake and Remus takes it, grinning despite himself at how official their interaction seems. “See you around, Remus!” Caradoc calls familiarly as he strolls off in the direction opposite the one Lily had taken. 

So starts the beginning of Remus’s very clandestine relationship with Caradoc Dearborn. Snatching fag packets from younger students and selling them back to Caradoc makes Remus feel guilty enough about the fact that McGonagall (or Dumbledore, even?) had chosen him for  _ some  _ reason to be Prefect for Gryffindor, and so he starts up a constrasing activity to make himself feel better about the wrongs he’s committing. 

Most of it is because Julie Blackstone has become somewhat less annoying over the years. During Remus’s third year, she’d never been far from him: hunting him down in the hall for advice before a Transfiguration test, upsetting his dinner at the Gryffindor table with a Potions textbook, waiting outside the portrait hole just for him to appear and give her advice on something or other. 

Remus chalked most of this up to the fact that Jasmine Pettigrew had been by her side, blushing and giggling nervously as though just there to see Remus Lupin’s free show of being constantly annoyed while simultaneously giving out advice fit enough to take down into notes. After spending fourth year pushing everyone away and spending most nights either in detention or busy feeling sorry for himself, Remus is sort of glad to have Julie by his side as something equal to a friend. 

“I don’t know why you’re not in Ravenclaw,” he tells Julie after they’re orchestrated a study session with anxious second years looking to get ahead in their classes. The two of them have been left deserted at one of the long tables in the back of the library. 

“Because I can keep up a conversation without making a bloody fool of myself,” Julie replies quickly, all while frowning down at a conglomeration of notes she’s taken during the study period on what subjects and spells the second years need help with exactly. “That hat had Ravenclaw on its mind, trust me, but I saw more of its mind than it saw mine and I learned exactly where  _ I’d  _ sort that old hat.”

“Did you now?” Remus asks laughingly.

“Yes, right into Gryffindor with the rest of you poncy lot, thinking it can pass a judgement or two on me, like who asked  _ you _ ?” Julie scoffs, shakes her red hair back over her shoulders, and then slides her notes over towards Remus. “I was thinking we could set up a Charms workshop on Thursday nights, just to set everything straight for them. Work for you?” 

Remus pulls her schedule closer to him and frowns. 

“Yeah, well…” The full moon is on next Thursday night. Oh, the things Remus can pass up as mere illness when he’s at home. He’s forgotten how decidedly inconvenient it can be to be a werewolf. “I’ve got evening patrols on Thursdays, can we do Wednesday?”

“No, I’ve got chess club on Wednesdays.”

“Piss off you-  _ chess  _ club?” Julie stares up at him, her hazel eyes quirked with irritation behind her horn rimmed glasses. “And you’re  _ still _ telling me you’ve been rightfully sorted into Hufflepuff?”

“I never said it was  _ rightful _ , mind you. Jasmine got me into chess, she’s a menace!” Remus believes this as much as he believes anything, knowing full well that chess talent must run in the Pettigrew family. “Anyways, it’s good for the mind and all. Keeps me sharp!” She taps the rim of her glasses. “Can’t you just get Evans to switch shifts with you?”

“It’s not a  _ job _ , Julie, you can’t call it a shift if you’re not being paid.”

“I’d demand payment!” Remus just scoffs. “Come on, really, Thursdays work best for me. You’re sure you can’t?” 

“I’ll check with Lily, okay? I can probably swing switching this Thursday, but I dunno about next.”

“Just switch your schedules  _ permanently,  _ Remus, that’s the whole point!” Julie is very straightforward in her ideas, sometimes too much so, and Remus just shakes his head while packing up his notes and ink. 

It’s when they’ve reached their crossroads in their separate journeys back to a common room that they call their own when Remus tells Julie some semblance of the truth, mixed in with a lie to make it a little easier going down for him.

“It’s just, I’m visiting home late next week because my mum’s properly ill, so I might be a bit tied up on Thursday.” Julie frowns at him and for a moment Remus wonders if she’s going to explain that a sick mum isn’t worth bunking off his own lessons for, but then she surprises him even further. 

“Well-! You should’ve just told me, eh? We’re the ones running it, Remus, if you need a week off then that’s fine. Honesty is best, isn’t it?”

“Sure, right, yeah.” Remus stammers. 

“And anyways, I know how you feel, I had to visit home during first and second year, when my dad was ill.” Damn, this was not how he imagined this conversation going. 

“Oh- sorry, is he-”

“He passed.” Julie nods as she recounts this, “but it happens to the best of us, doesn’t it?” Remus thinks that there’s no statement more decidedly fitting for a Hufflepuff than this one. “And I hope your mum’s alright, really. But I’m sure she will be.” Remus nods, not wanting to delve further into the business of his mother’s illness, since now that it’s genuinely  _ true,  _ he feels no need to even name the illness that she’s found herself at war with.

Cancer. Like lycanthropy, only worse, because you suffer at ends and try to make peace with things before you keel over and die. No cure (unless you count ‘therapy’ that makes you feel even worse about being alive a cure), and slowly but surely you feel your body weaken and decay, giving up any of that fight it had when it was younger. 

Hope had probably never thought she’d die of cancer in her forties when she was ten years old. She’d probably never thought about it at thirty years old, the same way Remus had never considered becoming a werewolf until he’d been bitten and there had been no changing things. 

Julie looks at him with a calm, thoughtful expression that holds no traces of pity. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Have a good night, Remus.” They’ve made no studying plans to explicitly see each other tomorrow, but Julie is one of those people who always briefly stop you in the hall to catch up just for sake of being polite. Remus doesn’t have to force a smile anymore and nods at her, wishing her the same and walking off down the hall feeling meditative on the newfound trials and tribulations of fifth year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two favorite characters in this whole story? remus lupin and caradoc mf dearborn. i cannot get enough of these guys


	62. [YR 5] Amongst the Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm uhh in the worst (rowdiest) dorm on campus and we have a (potential???) positive covid case so all of us are quarantined all weekend long 😗✌️my bday is on monday so yes i'm mourning and by mourning i mean writing..... so here. have another chapter
> 
> lyrics are from one of my favorite songs ever, "third eye" by florence + the machine. [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1q3Un1gwn8U&ab_channel=FATMFanClubPL) is a link to an amazing performance of it if you're looking to fall in love and also be amazed.

_ you don’t have to be a ghost here amongst the living  _

_ you are flesh and blood- and you deserve to be loved, and you deserve what you are given _

**s**

Don’t ask Sirius why his new prominent love interest slash obsession, Remus Lupin, has made the decision to encumber himself with putting on bloody teaching lessons to younger students just for the hell of it. 

At first, Sirius doesn’t mind that Remus seemingly always has something better to do than spend time with his friends, because he’s a Prefect now and the younger students seem to worship the ground he walks on based on the proficiency of his tutoring skills, but Sirius misses his company badly and ends up unfortunately tetchy and jealous about the new company that Remus had decided to keep.

It begins with the fourth year Hufflepuff Julie Blackstone. She doesn’t even bring Jasmine around with her anymore when she seeks Remus out at mealtimes, which is a shame, because Sirius always enjoyed watching Peter’s younger sister go red and stammer uselessly whenever Remus was around. Sometimes, much to Marlene’s dismay, Julie steals her spot next to Remus during lunch or dinner and talks to him about nothing worthwhile: schoolwork, Charms class, assorted stuff that makes Sirius feel like being sick.

Tonight, however, Sirius is given the gift of something generally amusing when a sixth year Ravenclaw interrupts their dinner. Sirius and Remus, sat across from each other, had been laughing about a first year that Remus had rescued earlier in the week after the poor lad had ended up locked inside a suit of armor. Neither of them see the Ravenclaw girl until she clears her throat loudly. 

She’s standing behind Remus and he makes a comically alarmed face which gets Sirius giggling, and then he slowly turns around to crane his head up at her while Sirius watches with detached interest.

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” Remus asks.

“I’m Pandora Raywood,” she introduces, sticking out a hand that Remus shakes delicately. “Julie told me you’re creating individual study sessions for different topics, but needed help with Potions. Is that true?” Remus turns around fully now, dropping his humorous exterior to turn his back on Sirius.

“That is true, I’m pants at Potions. You’re willing to help?”

“Yes, that’s why I’ve found you. I’m taking Potions for a N.E.W.T level, so I’m sure I could be of some assistance.”

“Cheers, Pandora, that’s brilliant. Could you meet me and Julie after dinner to talk about schedules?”

“What’s wrong with now?” Sirius sighs loudly, but Remus either doesn’t hear or chooses not to respond.

“Yeah, now’s fine, I guess.” Remus turns back around, shrugs at Sirius in a  _ what can I do?  _ motion that Sirius simply doesn’t stand for. It’s not at all hard to say no to people, especially pushy Ravenclaw nerds, but Remus evidently seems to disagree with this. “See you later, Sirius.”

“Enjoy.” Sirius mumbles darkly, shooting an annoyed look at Raywood, who seems completely unperturbed. In fact, her hazy blue eyes seem to sharpen when she looks at him, and she narrows them while tilting her chin up before leading Remus over to the Hufflepuff table to go ruin Julie’s dinner as well. 

Sirius heaves a sigh, not in the mood to finish his dinner alone, and stalks back up to the common room feeling oddly disconsolate. It’s not that he misses when Remus was out of sorts and angry, he doesn’t miss those  _ moods,  _ but he misses being the one to comfort him. Now, Remus is back in everyone’s good graces and Sirius feels that he’s faded into the backdrop of his friend’s life. Well, that’s a little melodramatic. Not the backdrop, per se, but he doesn't feel like the most important person to Remus anymore.

And yeah, it’s stupid and attention seeking. But Sirius hadn’t had the best summer of his life and still sometimes works himself into a rather melancholy state when it comes to thinking about the future and what’s going to become of him. With Uncle Alphard dead (now a closely kept secret that Sirius had only shared with Remus) and Andromeda not living a completely safe life, Sirius gets sadly hopeless when the future comes into question.

Once back in the dorms, he ends up feeling restless and strange. James is off trying to learn something from his Arithmancy teacher before an upcoming test, and Peter is probably in the middle of a gossipping circle of girls. Not in the mood to do homework, Sirius sits down and begins composing a letter to Andromeda. It’s useless stuff, mostly, just asking her about Nymphadora and Ted, family life, and he finds himself in the unfortunate position of not even knowing what to say. 

He supposes he could just go to bed, but that would consist of tossing and turning for hours and hours. What Sirius really wants is either Remus or a distraction (or maybe both of them combined, just for good measure) but the person who arrives in the dormitory next ends up being James. 

“What’s up?” James asks, slinging his bag onto his bed and taking out his books and notes to organize while Sirius watches and briefly wonders how one person can be so coordinated with his possessions.

“Nothing. There’s nothing to do.” Sirius sighs. “How was Arithmancy?” James glances up at him in surprise. It’s not often that Sirius asks questions about topics he doesn’t care about, like what James had learned during his extra lessons. Of all people, James understands this best, and seems to chalk up Sirius’s odd mood to the fact that something’s wrong and there’s no question that he’ll refuse to talk about it.

“Fine,” James replies, frowning as he sits back on his bed. Sirius knows that face, the one that’s privately worried but publicly not going to ask any questions. “Do you fancy some late night flying?” He asks instead, and Sirius smiles weakly before nodding. The two of them throw on the Invisibility Cloak without any prior discussion (just second nature by now) and take it off when reaching the pitch. 

Then they fly.

Sirius isn’t sure how long they spend soaring around in the sky, but it’s long enough to drag him out of the strange, depressed mood he’d been in. The feeling of a broomstick beneath him and the ground so very far away always fills him with a hearty buzz of adrenaline. Even though neither of them are seekers nor have any desire to be, James has brought out a snitch for them to chase around and the crisp, nighttime autumn air mixed with the dizzying fun of flying as fast as he can on a broom brings Sirius back to himself. It’s as though he’d been dissociating before, unable to put his mind to a single thing other than wistfully wishing Remus was by his side. 

But James Potter is a best friend first, and a suitable distraction second. 

Said friend/distraction pockets the snitch as they walk back towards the castle. 

“You’re keeping it?” Sirius asks as James drags the cloak back over them once they get closer to Hogwarts. 

“There’s bound to be more, it’s no issue.” James lets the snitch fly a little away from him and then snatches it back, displaying his fast reflexes. Sirius snorts. 

“Show off.”

“Takes one to know one.” They climb up the stairs to the back entrance and James hushes Sirius as he tries to fire back. Their walk back to the tower is silent, but Sirius can tell that James is deep in thought. He doesn’t know what about until they’re back in the dormitory. 

Remus and Peter are sitting on the floor, laughing at old photos of them from first year. Sirius sits down next to Remus, close enough to touch and happy as anything to have him back from the clutches of the Tutoring Squad. Peter tilts the photo album towards Sirius and he feels a nostalgic twinge while looking at a picture of the four of them from first year.

“Ahh, the days where my face wasn’t a crooked disaster.” James comments as he sits down beside Peter.

“Is that how you view your life? Pre and post broken nose?” Remus asks.

“Precisely. It’s probably the entire reason why I wasn’t made prefect, and I’m not Quidditch captain yet, and I didn’t make top marks in Potions...” he’s counting the reasons off on his fingers while Remus grins affably.

“Why Evans turned you down again?” Sirius asks, earning a scathing look from James. 

“Yeah, that’s bound to be it! D’you reckon you can fix it, Remus?”

“What, your nose?”

“It’s not even broken anymore!” Peter points out, getting a laugh from all of them.

“It’s not broken but it’s  _ disastrous _ .” James pokes at his crooked nose and then frowns at the photo of eleven year old him. 

“You could get plastic surgery,” Remus advises, “the muggles could give you a whole new nose.”

“They do that?!” James demands, looking both aghast and fascinated at the same time. 

“Ask Mary about it, she could tell you more.” Remus pauses, and then looks back at the album, at their younger selves. 

James sits back and catches Sirius’s attention with his dark eyes. Sirius doesn’t know what he’s about to do, but the casual mood is ruined when James continues forward with his words.

“So, Moony, we have some things to er… talk to you about.” Remus looks up from the photos with a frown on his face. Sirius feels the inane desire to take his hand and hold it tight. “I know that you have some idea of what we’ve done, but… well, we’ve become animagus. And I know the full moon’s on Thursday, and we’re hoping you’ll be okay with us joining you.” 

Oh, christ. Sirius hadn’t been planning on discussing this with Remus in advance, and though it’s probably the mature thing to do, he can physically feel Remus stiffen next to him. James has finished talking and looks at Remus with a worried expression on his dark face. 

“You’re… you actually did it?” Remus finally asks.

“What, you didn’t think we could?” Sirius hadn’t meant for it to sound so condescending but Remus obviously isn’t on the offensive (hasn’t been for months) and now turns to look at Sirius with a face worthy of falling in love with.

“No- I mean, I just- I sort of forgot, honestly. What animals…?” Sirius doesn’t wait to respond. He closes his eyes, imagines the big black dog and in a moment he’s sitting on a tail instead of his bum. The dog sees three boys and thinks  _ friends.  _ He jumps onto the one nearest to him, licking at his face while barking joyfully, and his friend laughs while petting his head tentatively. 

Then, one human turns into a stag. And another turns into a rat. The dog snaps playfully at the rat, who squeaks in fear, and then runs in a tangled circle around the stag’s feet. The last human boy has his hands over his mouth and stays seated on the floor while looking at the three animals standing in front of him. The dog barks again, wagging his tail, and then transforms back into a boy. 

It takes Sirius a split second to realize there’s tears in Remus’s eyes.

“Oh, Moony-”

“Christ, sorry.” Remus presses the heels of his hands against his eyes while James and Peter transform back, moving back to their positions next to him on the floor. “Fuck.” No one says anything while Remus takes a forced, shaky breath and continues mopping at his tearful eyes. “Fuck, you three… you’re brilliant. Jesus.” His voice is clearly choked and Sirius wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close while Remus laughs tearfully. 

“Told you so.” Sirius mumbles gently.

“You’re all mental. All totally mental.” He pauses. Then: “Yes, bloody  _ hell,  _ you’ve worked so hard for that. Of course you can join me for the moon.” James pumps his fist behind Remus’s back, a victorious position that the other boy doesn’t notice for he’s currently leaned hard into Sirius, something that Sirius is grateful for since he feels a bit like he’s been lit on fire due to the close contact. 

“But on my terms, okay?” Remus continues. “If I get… violent, like, you all have got to go. No questions. I’m not letting you get hurt.”

“Yeah, mate, of course.” James is as agreeable and pacifying as ever. Remus nods at him, then sighs, moving closer to Sirius.

“Thank you guys, honest. This is just… no one’s ever… I mean…” He trails off thoughtfully. “No one’s ever tried to properly help before. I’ve always been alone. So thank you. Thank you so much.”

**j**

Despite the fact that the marauders have teamed together and become animagi by their fifth year, the effects on Remus prior to the full moon don’t go away. In fact, they’ve continued to get worse as he grows older. He looks pale and shaky all through morning Herbology class, skips lunch because ‘the food makes him feel ill’, and James keeps his eyes on him throughout History of Magic, where he gives up on taking notes and eventually slumps over onto the desk. Sirius lowers his head to whisper quietly to Remus, who seems generally unresponsive. James chews at his lip, not listening to Binns at all, and watches Sirius’s worried face turn towards Remus. 

It takes a few minutes for Remus to get his words out, but Sirius nods and then raises his hand, attracting the attention of everyone around him, since History usually is a class in which no one talks except for Binns and his wheezy ranting. It takes their ghost of a professor a few minutes to notice the hand in the air, and he pauses before frowning at Sirius.

“Yes, Mr. Black?”

“Sorry, Professor, but Remus here is feeling rather ill. Can I take him to the hospital wing?” Binns frowns at Remus, as though he’s never seen him before in his life. 

“Yes, fine, go ahead. As I was saying, the Giant Wars reached a peaking point in 1887 when Minister for Magic Faris Spavin decided that…” James, and the rest of the class, watch as Remus shakily stands while Sirius slides his notes into his bag for him. Near the front of the class, Marlene has turned around in her seat and frowns worriedly as Remus limps out of the classroom, leaning heavily on Sirius for support. 

James watches them leave knowing that he cannot be afraid tonight. Remus has been alone for ten years, fighting off himself and building up this belief that he’s a monster and that’s all he’ll ever be. James thinks that after tonight, Remus will never be alone again.

Remus is gone for the rest of the day, but he’s brought up again at dinnertime.

“Is Remus alright, then?” Mary asks casually as she dumps a fair amount of salt over the food on her plate.

“Just ill.” Sirius says.

“He’s very strong, you know. Quite brave, our Remus. He’ll be okay.” James adds. 

“He seemed to be in a bad way.” Mary takes a bite of her asparagus and makes a face. James assumes she’s oversalted it. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“He’s just sickly, you know that, he’s always been. What can we do? Got to mend and move on, that’s what Grandpa Arcturus always used to say.” Sirius is very nonchalant about the whole topic. 

“It’s not really funny, you know.” Lily tells him darkly. “You two need to grow up.” 

James scoffs. “I’ve got  _ years  _ of hackneyed adulthood ahead of me, so when I’m fifty with achy joints, then I’ll give growing up a thought or two. For now, I’m happy to play along to my youth!” Lily just shakes her head as Mary laughs lightly, meeting James’s eyes and smiling at him warmly. At least  _ she’s _ got a sense of humor. 

After dinner, the rest of the night is a tense waiting game. When it finally comes time for them to leave for the Shrieking Shack, James can feel Sirius nearly shaking with either excitement or plain nerves, and their walk down onto the grounds under the invisibility cloak is rather hurried since Sirius is walking faster than either James or Peter. 

“What’s the hurry?” Peter pants as he trips over Sirius’s feet. 

“I don’t want him to be alone, is that so hard to understand?” Sirius’s voice is rather harsh. “Okay, Peter, go touch the knot, there, on the trunk.” They’ve reached the Whomping Willow and stand a fair distance back from it. The full moon glows down on them, and a crisp autumn breeze wavers the cloak over them.

James swears he can hear Peter swallow. “Go!” Sirius shoves Peter out from under the cloak and James is about to protest, tell Sirius to calm down, but Peter does his duty and transforms into the rat. Sirius and James watch him scamper over the roots, safe from the heavy arms of the willow (that had taken out Davey Gudgeon’s eye, James reminds himself nervously) and finally reaches the knot on the trunk of the tree. 

The heavy waving arms hover motionless in the dark night air, dead leaves fluttering down, while James and Sirius make a break for the tunnel that Remus had told them about. 

Sirius turns into the dog once they get into the tunnel, and bounds down the hallway while James and Peter follow him hunched over, wiping dirt out of their hair and squinting into the dark of the tunnel. Once they finally reach the shack, James can tell how nervous Peter is.

“Peter, it’s going to be okay.” James assures him. “We can’t back out now.”

“I know, I know.” Peter is still pale and edgy looking, his lip taut between his teeth as he looks up at the staircase leading to the room where they’ll spend the night. “We just have to be careful.”

“Of course we’ll be careful.” James and him stand at the bottom of the staircase in a worried silence. “Let’s go upstairs, okay? The moon will be up soon.” The stairs creak under their feet, and James pushes open a squeaky door to see a dusty, torn up bedroom where Remus and Sirius are sitting. 

There’s a broken chair in the corner. The walls are scored deep with claw marks, and there’s broken wood, shattered glass, and torn floorboards. There’s a sharp, salty smell in the air. Blood. It’s a museum of Remus’s unsuccessful escape attempts. A collection of the hundreds of ways he’s hurt himself throughout the past five years.

It’s painful to look around at this destruction and know that his friend is the cause of all of it. James swallows a lump in his throat as he glances over at the bed where his friend is sitting- wrapped up in a blanket and nothing else. His face is nearly grey, and his pupils are huge in his eyes, making him look like a different person.

“Alright, Moony?” James asks. Remus looks up at him with no trace of humor in his face, only worry and pain. He just nods, glances at Peter, and then back to Sirius. 

“I know I told you before,” Remus starts in a hoarse voice, “but I can’t say it enough. If I get violent, if I try to hurt any of you, you  _ have  _ to go. You have to. I’ve been alone for every single moon since I was five, so it’s nothing new if you have to go. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Moony-” Sirius begins, a protest in his voice, but he’s shut down.

“No, Sirius, I need your word on this or else James will just force you, okay?” Remus’s voice is dead serious, and his tone sharp. “I’m not playing around. And whatever you do, don’t ever transform back into a human. None of you. Okay? If any of you get bitten…” he trails off and just shakes his head, unable to find words to attribute to the immense guilt he would feel.

“We understand, Remus. It’s going to be okay.” James tells him in a pacifying voice. Remus has his head down and doesn’t make eye contact with James. He looks very afraid. He looks nothing like Remus Lupin. Then he flinches, hard, and rolls his neck like he’s trying to crack it. James watches him open his mouth as his face turns into a silent scream. 

“Transform,” Remus pants, clutching the blanket tighter around him, his face a mask of pain, “transform  _ now! _ ” James doesn’t need to be told twice. Remus screams out loud as James’s body morphs into that of a clumsy, faltering stag. His screams are awful, painful things that tear through the nighttime. It must hurt very badly. His body contorts, joints snapping as his bones crack in different directions, skin tearing, fur growing, everything changing... 

The wolf tilts his head back and lets out a loud howl that echoes through the night. He howls again, a rough sound in his throat, and lowers his head afterwards, taking in the rest of the animals in the room. 

Then another howl sounds. It’s the dog this time, back arched as his head tilts back towards the ceiling. The wolf howls again, in time with the dog, and these are sounds of catharsis. The dog and wolf cry out together, loud and lonely in the nighttime, except neither are alone.

Tonight, the Shrieking Shack no longer looks battered and terrifying. There is no way to describe the joy and relief that the wolf feels. But the stag can feel it too. It permeates the air like nothing ever has before, and it’s clear through the wolf’s actions that tonight is good- that tonight is  _ better.  _

He doesn’t tear at himself, or throw himself against the wall. The dog pounces at him, tail wagging as he barks happily, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. Paws splayed in front of him, butt in the air with his tail still wagging- the black dog is looking to play. He thumps his paws on the floor in front of him and barks again, dark eyes trained on the wolf, who bats at him playfully. 

The stag watches the two of them chase each other around the bedroom- as the dog jumps onto the bed, his barks sounding almost like laughter, and the wolf swipes a paw at him. There’s no anger in his motions, no bloodlust, he’s just appeasing the dog. He’s only playing with him. The four animals spend the night like that- the dog running around the bedroom, tangling himself up in the stag’s legs, the stag butting the wolf gently with his antlers while the wolf growls lightly and snaps his jaws. 

The stag isn’t afraid. His mind isn’t capable of human-like thoughts, only animalistic ones that involve movement and  _ FUN,  _ because he wants to play with the rest of them and there’s joy, there’s so much joy. The stag doesn’t have to have a human mind to sense that. 

When the sun rises and the moon sets, there’s even a little wary sadness that comes as all four of them transform back into humans. Three of them do it gracefully, while the fourth screams in unabashed, horrifying pain as his limbs crack back from wolf to boy. Sirius comforts him once the transformation is over. Wraps the blanket around his shaking body, helps him to the bed, asks if anything’s broken, if he needs to heal any wounds. 

Remus says no. 

Remus who had broken two ribs during third year, who’d scratched up his own face enough for permanent scars to marr his features forever, who’d gouged out his wrists when his parents shackled him up because they were so afraid. Remus hasn’t hurt himself at all. James and Peter sit further back on the floor, James with his knees bent in front of his chest and his arms dangling over them. 

He hears Remus sniff, sees him wipe at his eyes, and hears his favorite word to use in almost any uncomfortable situation, ever- “Christ.” And then: “Christ, sorry, fuck,  _ fuck _ -”

“It’s okay, Moony.” Sirius says in a voice softer than James has ever heard. “That’s alright, you’re alright.”

“I know, I know.” James looks at the floor and listens to the scene play out, feeling as though Remus and Sirius have forgotten about him and Peter, and feeling like this is something too personal to be witnessing. “I’ve just never- I’ve never  _ been _ alright.” Then he bursts into tears. James glances at Peter, who just raises his eyebrows and says nothing. 

Sirius is hugging Remus, the crying boy’s face buried in his shoulder to muffle the sobs, and James turns his eyes back to the splintered, ravaged floor. He can’t imagine what Remus might be feeling right now: immense relief, comfort, and hope so strong that it’s brought him to tears. James is just glad he could be there to help. There’s no better feeling for him. 


	63. [YR 5] Hold Me Tight or Don't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for homophobia and generally offensive language by the end

_ i can’t not be with you / i love you to death / confidants but never friends, were we ever friends?  _

**s**

Sirius Black has fallen head over heels for Remus Lupin, and is only somewhat regretful when Benjy Fenwick snogs his face off one night in a storage cupboard, and then afterwards tells Sirius that he thinks they need to stop this. Sirius is mostly confused, since they’ve just had a nice proper makeout session and now are talking about not doing it anymore, but this leaves him single (although everyone else has been under that impression for years) and completely ready to mingle with the one and only Remus.

“I’m Quidditch captain, this year, you know.” Benjy tells Sirius in the darkened room. Sirius is sentimental and has memorized certain things about Benjy that he’d never like to forget: the way his silver earrings glint even in the darkness, the feeling of his closely shaved hair under Sirius’s hands, or the hot sound of his breath as he comes undone before Sirius’s very eyes. 

They’ve been closer with each other than Sirius has ever been with anyone, but he doesn’t know if they could even be considered friends. 

“And there’s O.W.Ls this year, and to be honest, I’d… gosh, I dunno, I’d just be looking for something more serious, you know? No pun intended.” Benjy smirks anyways, as though he’s just told a good joke, and Sirius nods in understanding. They’ve talked about having a proper relationship, a topic which Sirius had shot down fast as anything because being tied up being Benjy’s  _ boyfriend  _ sounds a lot less appealing than his fuckbuddy (not that they’ve ever had actual sex) and besides, Sirius is waiting around for the day that Remus takes a good look at him and decides to fall in love.

That’s a false hope, Sirius knows. They’re good friends, best friends, but nothing more. And they never will be. So here goes something else that’s been keeping Sirius tethered to earth, and he nods in a best attempt at nonchalance.

“That’s alright, that makes sense.”

“So, technically, this isn’t even a breakup, right?” Benjy’s tying his blue and bronze tie back on and Sirius takes a good long, last look at him all tousled and unfastened.

“Are we done for good?” Sirius asks in a croaky voice. Benjy looks reasonably uncomfortable about being put on the spot and physically positions himself farther away from Sirius.

“I think so, Sirius. If that’s alright with you.” It’s not like he has a choice. Benjy’s right, it’s not officially a breakup at all. Sirius returns to the common room that night feeling floaty and detached. It’s the same uncomfortable feeling that has been haunting him all year long, ever since he heard news of Alphard’s death. It’s all rather embarrassing, to be frankly honest about it, but Sirius has taken to writing letters to Alphard as though he’s still alive. 

Sirius writes page after page of updates from school and about life, the letters he’s never been able to write to his parents, and would feel a bit awkward about sending to Andromeda. Alphard had been the only one who’d written him about regular things, and Sirius misses his letters this year. So he writes him- packages the letters into envelopes, writes his address on them just like the muggles do even though the owls would have been able to find him with no real direction. Sirius pours his mundane, everyday happenings into these letters and then deposits them on the floor under his bed once finished, as though he can pretend that someone’s read them and pretended to care about his life.

James is the one to find the letters that Sirius had left scattered all over the floor, half hoping that the house elves would find them and throw them away. No such luck. They’ve left the letters by his bedside but he’s kicked them over and unintentionally spread them around the room due to his general inability to be organized. 

James is the only one organized enough to consider picking them up, and it’s a rare night where all four marauders are diligently studying in the dorm while James takes a break to pick up the floor. 

“Sirius, do you want to post these, or should I?” 

“Huh?” Sirius asks. He’s frowning at a Divination book, trying to memorize the meanings of palm lines, and doesn’t notice James straightening up with a handful of envelopes in his hand. 

“There’s like, ten letters for your Uncle Alphard.” Remus looks over from his usual post on the windowsill, hazel eyes sharp and immediately worried. “One’s from yesterday…”

“Give those here.” Sirius snaps, snatching the envelopes out of James’s hands. No, he hadn’t told James about his uncle’s death. Why would he? It seems a random thing to confess to your friend out of nowhere, especially since it’s been months since his death. Sirius had told Remus because he never makes fusses out of these things. They swap sad secrets without ever getting too worried about each other. 

But now, Remus is eyeing him curiously and Sirius feels under odd scrutiny. He gets James to drop the topic but can’t keep Remus away, and it’s in bed at night that Remus visits him, twitching the curtain back and inviting himself onto Sirius’s bed with a knowing look on his face that’s expressed through the seven words that Sirius always dreads:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Sirius’s reply is childish and dark, but Remus just rolls his eyes while pulling the curtain shut. 

“About the fact that you’re writing letters to your dead uncle.” That’s the thing about Remus- his uncanny ability to get straight to the point without being offensive. “Unless you don’t want to,” he offers.

“No…” Sirius has sat up and scoots a little farther away from Remus, tucking his knees up close to his chest. Sirius’s hair is shorter than it's ever been, and under Remus’s curious gaze, he misses the weight of it on his shoulders and the way he could sometimes hide behind it. Just another thing his mother had taken from him. 

“Oh  _ god _ , I dunno, it’s just some stupid way of coping. I can’t let go. I don’t know how to come to peace with it. I write him all the time, like he’s still alive, but there’s no one to mail them to. Am I mad?”

“No.” Remus says almost before Sirius stops talking. “You’re not mad at all.” In the white light of his wand, Remus’s face looks familiar and handsome. He’s gained some weight and looks properly healthy, which is a nice change from hollowed out and emaciated. Sirius swallows a lump in his throat and for a brief, awful moment, considers spilling everything.

“Remus.” He says, not wanting to discuss his odd forms of coping with his grief, and feels a sharp tingling in his stomach when Remus looks up at him. God, the things Sirius would do to see his face forever and ever. 

“Hm?” Sirius opens his mouth and all the words hang there in the air:  _ I’m queer and I think I’m in love with you and to be honest, I have been for years, maybe for as long as I’ve known you, and I just want to tell you because I can’t bear holding it in anymore. I love you I love you I love you and I’d scream at the top of my lungs, but maybe I should double check our silencing charm has been cast, don’t you think? _

Instead, he says something a little less incriminating. “You don’t have to sit and talk to me.” Remus frowns which doesn't look nearly as nice as open curiosity does. 

“Don’t tell me you want me to leave!”

“I don’t!” No, Sirius just wants to know if Remus feels the same way. “Not unless you want me to!” 

“Ach, this is getting too complicated. I reckon I’ll stay. You want me to sleep with you?” There’s laughter in his voice, the words carrying unintentional meaning, and Sirius has to force a laugh to keep the heat out of his face.

“Yes, Moony, I’d love for you to sleep with me.”

“Brill. Shove over, then.” Sirius scoots to the edge of his bed and realizes that perhaps this hadn’t been the best thought out plan, but Remus stretches out in his bed gracelessly and tugs most of the covers over onto himself as he lies down. Sirius huffs as he lies down next to him. 

Even though he feels sort of awkward and awfully nervous about the situation, despite its familiarity, he’s grateful to have Remus there because he always sleeps better with the other boy next to him. Feeling as though a certain filter has been removed, Sirius tells him this.

“Ah, you’re so sentimental.” Remus says slowly. “You need a soft toy, or something. A cuddly wolf?”

“ _ You’re _ my cuddly wolf.” Sirius mumbles while Remus laughs softly and Sirius feels his face burn with unbearable heat. Maybe he should kick Remus out of his bed. This is going too far. Sirius is hardly ever reduced to an anxious, embarrassed mess, unless he’s dealing with Remus. And he didn’t used to feel this way. It’s a giddy, lovestruck madness.

“Do you fancy a cwtch, or is that too much for you?” Remus asks.

“A what?”

“A cwtch. Welsh. A cuddle, basically. It essentially means ‘safe place.’” Sirius sighs. Wonders if it’s too much to tell Remus that when he thinks of home or safety, he thinks of him. 

“How do you spell it?”

“C-W-T-C-H. Welsh madness.”

“It does seem like someone’s had a stroke and tried to spell something in English.”

“I love it,” Remus responds simply. “Reminds me of home.” That’s the last thing they say to each other for the night. Sirius drifts off easily and falls asleep feeling safe. 

Despite that late night conversation and the fact that more often than not, Remus and Sirius start spending the night in each others’ beds, Remus is still busy. And Sirius wonders if he cuddles up next to him in bed at night only so he’ll have a good nights’ sleep. It seems more of something done for convenience, and Sirius once again finds himself deep in the throes of pining mixed with the horrors of unrequited love. 

Remus is off tutoring and being a wonderful prefect, James shows up to every Quidditch practice (including the extra ones), and Peter is usually busy sitting in on someone else’s conversations. Not Sirius’s, though, because Sirius is too lonely for his own good and ends up joining Mary and some of her Slytherin friends one night when he’s grown tired of eating a quick dinner by himself before sloping off to the library to do something dreadfully boring. 

Mary is sitting with two somewhat familiar girls.

“Hello, ladies!” Sirius cheers as he sits down next to Mary, grinning at her and the other girls. One of them smiles back while the other gives him a curious, if disappointed look. “You’re Katherine, right?” He asks the frowning girl, who nods. “Katherine Inkwood…” He mumbles under his breath, hating that he’s forgotten the name of the dirty blonde girl whose faint smile has disappeared. 

“Olivia Campbell.” She introduces, reaching a hand across the table for him to shake. “I’ve been paired up with you in Charms more times than I can count.”

“Right.” Sirius replies, feeling distinctly stupid. Girls seem to have a way of doing that to him. “What’s your plans for the night?” Olivia turns red while Mary elbows Sirius. 

“Not anything that you’ll be interested in.” Mary responds, giving him a suspicious look. “Where’s the rest of your lot?”

“My lot?”

“Have they abandoned you?” She continues. “Finally.”

“Yes, they have, and it’s quite sad, take pity on me Mary, please?” It’s not so much pity that Mary takes, it’s just some form of entertainment for her and the Slytherins to bring him back to their dorm while Olivia produces some embroidery needles and says they’re piercing Mary’s nose, if he’d like to watch. 

“Are you having a laugh?” Sirius asks, awed by Mary’s bravery. “You’re not serious?” Mary sits at the edge of Olivia’s bed while Katherine takes a seat on the small sofa in their dormitory next to Sirius, craning her neck eagerly for a better view. The Slytherin dorms are dark, but oddly cozy. The bedroom is warm, and there’s sparkling green muggle fairy lights strung about to give the dormitory a welcoming, bright atmosphere. 

Mary looks out of place in her red trimmed Gryffindor robes, but then again, Sirius doesn’t fit into the environment properly either. The Black heir, sat up in the Slytherin girls’ dorms while they pierce each other. What next?

“No, I thought  _ you  _ were serious!” Mary jokes, getting both Katherine and Olivia laughing, as though they’ve never heard the pun before. Which they haven’t, really. Sirius hasn’t spent much time with either of them. Mary continues on. “I’ve wanted a nose ring for a while, and it’s free this way.” She produces a shiny golden stud from her pocket and sanitizes it with a spell while Olivia draws a dot on her nose in marker.

Katherine and Sirius tense nervously as they go ahead with it. Olivia’s quite nonchalant about the whole situation, grabbing Mary’s face as she jams the needle through her nose, and all four of them shout and laugh nervously when Olivia leaves the needle in and Mary turns to look at the rest of them with the silver embroidery needle stuck through the side of her nose. There’s tears running down her cheeks, not from pain but pressure, and there’s even more high pitched yelling when Olivia shoves the stud in place of the needle. 

The Slytherin wipes away some blood and presents Mary to them: the new golden stud gleaming in her nose. It hadn’t taken but five minutes. Sirius only has to stare for a moment before proposing a new question.

“Can you do my ears?”

Olivia’s quite adept with the needle. She cleans off a pair of her old studs and tells Sirius to take a deep breath in, and when he releases, she jams the embroidery needle clean through his earlobe with surprising force. 

“You could do this professionally,” he explains to her once admiring the silver studs glinting from his lobes after she’s finished. “Make a pretty penny out of it.” 

“Maybe,” Olivia responds, drawing out the ‘e’ sound. “How would you like that, Katherine?”

“Mmm, I might have to report you.” Katherine responds. Sirius turns to glance over at her, and for the first time notices the neatly polished silver and green prefect page shining on her robes.

“Oh, you’re a Prefect?” Sirius asks obliviously. Katherine tilts her chin up and nods. Her expression is withdrawn and cool, and Sirius feels oddly intimidated by her. “That’s cool. Good on you.”

“Cheers,” she responds expressionlessly. Sirius can’t read her face very well, but there’s something in that sly smile of hers that gives him a strange feeling. “Mary, would you be a dear and paint my nails? Maybe we can do Black’s, too…”

**l**

Severus Snape is an enigma to Lily. He never makes sense and she hates him for it. She’s never met anyone so hard to read, so simple to hate but all the while so damned easy to forgive. Today, in November of 1975, they’re going through a good phase. 

Good things are so easily and quickly ruined. Especially in regards to Severus. 

They have a double period of Advanced Potions before lunch, where Lily is grateful to spend the class free of the usual distractions- namely Black and Potter, but very often Mary, who’s almost even more dreadful at the subject than Potter, and consistently talks about her desire to drop the class a year early.

They’ve been brewing Alihotsy Draught. Lily and Severus had produced a near perfect sample for Slughorn, but while packing up, Lily had accidentally inhaled a mouthful of alihotsy aroma and ended up laughing so hysterically that she’d ended up in tears, barely able to take the antidote that Slughorn had given her. She leaves the class still plagued by occasional fits of manic laughter, and Severus keeps shooting her these smiley glances that make her feel like they’re young again.

The two of them stop by the Great Hall to get some food, but Lily doesn’t stay to sit with friends. Today, she wants to keep laughing with Severus, because it’s Friday and it’s been a good day so far, so there’s no harm in continuing it. 

They sit at a bench in the hall outside the Arithmancy classroom while Severus does a shockingly precise impression of Professor McGonagall to get Lily laughing again. The Scottish accent combined with his choice of words- “A babbling, bumbling, band of  _ baboons _ !” bring tears back to Lily’s eyes, and they spend about twenty minutes doing impressions of teachers like they’re second years instead of fifth years, and it’s properly nice. 

Just for a short period of time. Like it could be caught like a firefly and held inside a jar for just a moment. Because these moments don’t last forever, and Lily wishes they could but good times between her and Severus have become few and far between, these days. These moments glow with rare brightness, and this moment dims out when Sirius Black and Maggie Croshaw, a Ravenclaw in their year, walk past.

Severus doesn’t stop talking, just hesitates when Lily glances up at Black, who ruins the entire mood by dropping a friendly, cheerful “Hiya, Evans!”, complete with a casual wave before continuing down the hallway as Lily’s weak response drifts off after him. 

Severus has stopped talking, and frowns after Black and Croshaw as they round the corner to the Great Hall.

“You two are friends?” He asks sharply, earning a completely justified scoff from Lily. 

“Not really friends, Sev, the only one of them I’m alright with is Lupin.” His last name feels unfamiliar in her mouth because it’s true. Remus is her friend, and prefect duty has brought them even closer. But Severus’s face tightens at the mention of him, and Lily remembers their short-lived war during fourth year, when Remus had beaten him up in the courtyard with a wide eyed crowd to boot. 

“Lupin, Lupin.” Severus tests his name out on his tongue. “He’s an interesting one, don’t you think? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how sickly he is. Or how he seems to disappear quite conveniently, once a month?” 

“What are you, obsessed with him? Sounds a bit stalkerish.” Lily keeps her tone casual, and picks at the crust of her sandwich while Severus eyes her thoughtfully. “Are you trying to insinuate something, Sev?” Severus is looking at her with those deep black eyes of his. All of Lily’s laughter is gone. She feels a bit scared.

She feels a bit  _ weird.  _ There’s a strange sensation washing over her, and she finds herself thinking of Remus, of his scars and his secrets and his sickness, and then-

“Severus, honestly!” She snaps loudly, watching Severus’s attention break and feeling an odd, shaky sense of relief. “Either you think Lupin’s secretly a girl and suffering extra badly on his time of the month,” (at this, Severus’s face turns a shade of pink characteristic of men when discussing periods), “or you think he’s a  _ werewolf,  _ which, honestly-! You can’t be serious?”

“It just seems a bit  _ suspicious,  _ you know, a bit too convenient…”

“I’d pay you a hundred Galleons if that bloody rubbish you’re spouting was true. Dumbledore wouldn’t let a dark creature- I mean  _ honestly-  _ a  _ half breed  _ attend school with us! That’s just- it’s disgusting, Sev. Jesus Christ.” Lily shakes her head disappointedly, feeling most of the regret fall on her for the words she’s just said, but Severus looks dutifully ashamed and lowers his head embarrassedly.

“Yeah, you’re right…” Severus shakes his head and looks down the hallway again, probably waiting for lunch to be over and the halls to fill up with students. “Sorry, Lily, you’re right. Of course. Dumbledore would never let him attend.” Lily doesn’t respond, just finishes pulling the crusts off her sandwich and then gives up on ruining it. She eats it quickly and then stands up, giving Severus a dark look, before wishing him a curt goodbye and leaving him alone in the hall. Another bright moment snuffed out too soon.

Later that night, Lily is witness to another uncomfortable argument. At least she doesn’t have to take part in this one. She’s laying back in bed, holding an Ancient Runes textbook over her with outstretched arms as she tries to decipher it, when she hears Moira start up a tentative conversation with Marlene. 

“You and Dorcas, you’re like… I mean, you two are… you’re  _ together?” _ Moira asks in a soft voice. Lily peers around the corner of her book to see Marlene looking warily at the ginger girl. She’s never openly admitted to dating Dorcas, but Lily and Mary know better than to ask when it’s clear before their eyes. 

“Is there a problem with that?” Marlene’s voice has a clear bite to it. Lily’s eyes slide over to where Mary is sitting on her own bed, shamelessly listening to their conversation with wide eyes. 

“It’s not a  _ problem,  _ Marlene, I just…” Moira drifts off and Lily watches Mary turn her head towards where the two girls are talking, as though keeping their voices low will be drowned out by the sound of John Lennon on the record player. “I don’t know if I can be your friend anymore. I mean, I’ve changed clothes in front of you, I sleep in the same room as you, like, I mean, what if someone thinks I’m the same way?” Moira nearly whispers these last words, and Mary once again looks back over at Lily, with an angry look on her face.

“You’re joking, right?” Marlene asks. “You’re taking the piss?”

“Marlene, I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea. And, like… what if you try something?”

“What if I  _ try  _ something?” 

“I mean, this is just a preference for you!” Moira continues. “And you’ve misled, like, everyone! Literally everyone! What is this, for attention? You were dating Lupin up until last year! And now you’re a dyke?” Lily hasn’t been sure whether or not to interrupt, but Mary doesn’t think twice.

“Moira, that’s bang out of order and I suggest you shut your mouth right about now,” Mary snaps, slamming her own heavy textbook shut as she stands up. Marlene’s moved away from the argument, face red, and storms into the bathroom while Lily rushes after her, barely managing to get inside the small room before Marlene slams the door behind them. 

Mary MacDonald is a laugh most days, and always trusted to pick up a mood, but she’s a menace when angry. Marlene’s too forgiving and Lily isn’t the best with confrontation, but Mary takes no shit and Lily can hear her intense, angry voice as she tells Moira what for while Marlene wipes tears from her eyes. 

“It’s not a  _ choice! _ ” Marlene whisper-screams, tearing her hands down her face and leaving red marks in wake of her fingernails. “Why would I choose this? Why would I choose to be in a relationship that I can’t tell anyone about?! Why would I choose being ashamed of who, of who I  _ love?  _ Like I’ve done it on purpose? Like it’s my own fucking fault?” 

“Marlene…”

“And I won’t ever apologize for being with Dorcas because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, just so you bloody well know!”

“I do know.” Marlene turns in a circle, nearly growling in frustration, and takes a huge breath before turning back to Lily. Her eyes are less glassy and now she just looks a little terrifying with fury. 

“How  _ dare _ she, that babbling, useless, ignorant  _ cunt _ -”

“Okay, Marlene, calm down!” Lily protests, putting her hands on Marlene’s shoulders in what she hopes is a calming and steadying gesture. “Not that you don’t have a right to be angry, which you  _ so  _ do, but Marls, you can’t change her mind. Mary’s already talking to her! She won’t change her mind either, though.” Marlene takes a step back from Lily, throat working, eyes still burning with fury. 

“I just-  _ fuck,  _ you know? What the hell was she on about?”

“Homophobia?” Lily offers weakly. “Marls, what can we do? Honest? We can’t change her mind. It’s better to drop her as a friend than to try holding on.”

“Oh, I’ve fucking dropped her.” Marlene snaps. Lily finds it oddly (and inappropriately) humorous that Marlene’s dated two people with incredible vocabularies when it comes to swearing, and has seemed to pick up on their language in moments of anger. 

“Marlene, for what it’s worth, I’ll support you no matter what. Me and Mary both. This doesn’t change how I see you, and I hope you know that.” Marlene looks back at her warily, like she’s afraid of letting her guard back down.

“Thank you…” 

“And fuck what Moira thinks, right?” Lily adds, seeing a smile finally bloom on her friend’s face. “You and Dorcas are brilliant together, and I’m happy for you.” Marlene blushes but keeps smiling, and nods. 

“Thanks, Lils.”

“Of course.” 


	64. [YR 5] Black Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo it's my birthday! still trapped in dorm quarantine so i'm a lil sad but hopefully i'll find a way to celebrate. enjoy a chapter that you've probably (most definitely) been waiting for 
> 
> cw for sexual-ish content as the chapter progresses

_ i gotta roll, can’t stand still _

_ got a flaming heart, can’t get my fill _

_ eyes that shine, burning red _

_ dreams of you all through my head  _

**r**

“Have your parents sent you an entire textbook through the post?!” Sirius comments at lunchtime when Remus unfolds the pages that his parents have written him. He’d gotten the letter at breakfast but it’s very long and details a painful, blow by blow account of the ways his mum is slowly but surely getting worse, and it’s quite hard to sit down and read all at once, so he gives the fourth page another go during lunchtime. 

It ruins his appetite, to say the least, and he can’t help frowning up at Sirius. 

“Who’s it from, then?” He continues, eyebrows raised. Remus is sure that he’d be trying to read over his shoulder if he weren’t sitting across the table from him, and Remus looks back down at the letter and all the words he dreads to read glaring back up at him. 

“It’s my mum...” Remus skims the words that his mum wrote in her loopy, spiraled handwriting:  _ Won’t be going through with treatment… makes me feel even worse… don’t want to spend the rest of my life miserable…  _ Privately, Remus thinks that she’s going to live a short, miserable life without treatment rather than a longer one, but he’s not planning on telling her that. “She’s decided to not have treatment.”

Sirius is the one person he’s told about his mum’s cancer. Remus feels that their relationship is mostly based on a similar sense of humour and this strange compulsion they have to confess their darkest secrets to each other. Sirius is the most understanding person that Remus has ever met, even more so than James, and the best thing about him is that he never suggests a solution to these problems because, for the most part, Remus doesn’t even want to fix them. 

Remus trusts Sirius, enough to tell him this personal business about his mum, and Sirius takes on a somewhat concerned expression. It’s not one he wears often. And it looks strange when he looks it, even more so now that he’s pierced his ears and painted his nails black. James wouldn’t stop teasing him about any of it, but Remus had found it secretly  _ very  _ cool, and feels this oddly warm sensation in his stomach whenever he lets himself look at Sirius for too long.

“Treatment?” Sirius asks. “That’s like… keelotherapy, right?”

“Chemo.” Remus corrects him, a little surprised that he has an idea of what muggle treatments to cancer might be. Maybe they’ve gone over it in Muggle Studies? “Chemotherapy. Radiation.”

“Yeah, I read up about it. Why doesn’t she want it?” Remus shrugs, folding the letter back up, and deciding that he’s had enough of thinking about his mum’s impending death for the day. 

“Dunno, it’s her choice.” Remus stuffs the sheets of paper into his bag and regards the food on his plate. His appetite is gone, but he always feels bad about wasting food, whether it be at Hogwarts or at home, and he spears a cherry tomato on his fork, watching juice explode out of it as it’s punctured. “Anyways,” Remus continues, changing the topic to something much more Sirius’s speed, “your birthday.”

The knife sharp grin that Remus has become so accustomed to seeing lights up Sirius’s face just at the mention of his own birthday. It’s generally a bit egotistical of him, but Remus gives him the benefit of small (contained) amounts of pity. Remus would never make a big fuss over his own birthday, but that’s probably because his parents and family members actually write him cards and send him gifts, while Sirius’s parents haven’t written him for years and he’s usually only given a small present from Andromeda. 

So celebrating at school and making a big fuss for all to see has become Sirius’s go-to.

“What about it?” He asks, eyes already glinting with suppressed interest. 

“Well, I was thinking of begging some drinks off of Bones, but I’m sure I could just blackmail him by taking points, or giving him detention, or something…”

“Moony, you’ve always left me clueless as to how and why you’ve been chosen to be a Prefect.”

“What are we talking about?” James’s voice, and he’s breathless as he joins them at the table. Hair all tousled and ridiculous, glasses crooked, body radiating heat that suggests he’s just been running. James doesn’t hasten to explain himself, just beams at him as he reaches over him to get a plate of food. 

“My birthday.” 

“And you’re thinking of begging drinks off Bones?” James asks Remus, apparently having heard that part of the conversation despite not being present for it. “Why don’t we just nick ‘em?” 

“Not from Bones, I respect him.”

“No, not from Bones. From the Three Broomsticks! Want to plan a heist?” 

The heist, it turns out, is not much to write home about. All four marauders have stolen plenty from Zonko’s, The Three Broomsticks, and Honeydukes, although James more often than not leaves some money behind in the till when he thinks the rest of them aren’t looking. James, Peter, and Remus head into Hogsmeade after curfew on Sunday night. 

Equipped with enough alcohol to get most people in Gryffindor at least buzzed, they return to the castle clinking and clanking under the weight of all the bottles. Although Remus is excited enough to get drunk, he’s begun to enjoy weed much more than expected, and rolls up some joints on the morning of November third, planning to share them with Sirius later in the day.

The greenhouses have become a familiar smoke spot, but there’s something special about the location that he associates familiarly with Marlene, so he doesn't take Sirius there. It would be like taking Marlene up to the Astronomy tower late at night. There’s certain places for certain people. 

So, in the evening, he drags Sirius up to the dormitory, saying that he’s got a special sort of gift that shouldn’t be ‘released’ in the common room. Lily’s eyes had widened upon hearing that, and she’d reminded Remus that he’s a  _ Prefect, remember, so don’t do anything stupid! _

Up in the dorms, Sirius looks around expectantly.

“What’s there to release?”

“Oh, nothing.” Remus waves a hand dismissively. “Wanted to smoke a joint with you.”

“Oh, Moony, you spoil me so.” Remus had also given Sirius a copy of Diamond Dogs as a proper gift, and he’s so far been humming the riff to Rebel Rebel all day long. Remus also helped Lily in baking a large number of cupcakes for the occasion, most of which have already been eaten by assorted Gryffindors. “I’ve never had this before.” Remus raises his eyebrows, though unsurprised, and hands him over one of the joints he’d rolled earlier.

“I think you’ll enjoy.” Sirius, it turns out, does enjoy the weed. They smoke both joints, watch the clouds seem to magically part so they can catch a glimpse of the sunset, and then descend to the crowded common room, where Sirius’s return heads off his birthday party. 

Remus has a fair share to drink, and once combined with weed, finds himself locked into the overwhelmingly soft and cozy sofa. With a perfect view of Sirius Black: busy socializing and dancing all at once. Sirius swishes his head back and forth, thick black hair barely brushing his shoulders. Remus misses it long. Remus tells him that.

“Your hair was so nice when it was long.” Sirius looks up at him, still moving a bit to the music, but he looks caught off guard and generally strange. “I would’ve died to run my hands through it.” These words had not been planned and subsequently sort of fall out of Remus’s mouth, but no one is listening except for Sirius, who tilts his head a bit. He has these sort of dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, not proper ones but lined hollows that show up against the cut of his cheekbones. 

“I’m growing it out again, don’t worry.” Remus wants him to say more. He can see it now: Sirius sitting down on the sofa next to him, alcohol-warmed body bumping up against him, knee bouncing in time to the music and grinning with that trademarked Sirius Black Grin that gets fireworks going off in Remus’s belly. 

This doesn’t happen. A different variation is undergone. A song comes on, something familiar and written by The Kinks, and Sirius turns to say “I love this one! Turn it up!” Someone turns up the music and Remus recognizes “Lola” while Sirius turns back to him, face red with drink and giddy with the excitement associated with celebration.

And so he starts singing along, because Sirius will sing louder to any song banned by the BBC (Remus is sure that this is a proven fact), but things become subsequently worse and better at the same time when Sirius turns his gaze on Remus. Starts not singing at him but  _ to  _ him, shaking his shoulders and tilting his head as he approaches Remus on the sofa, where he’s locked in by the combination of weed and drink.

“She walked up to me and asked me to dance, I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said ‘Lola’,” Sirius mouths while Remus sits stuck on the sofa and can do nothing but watch. “L-O-L-A, Lola. Lo lo lo lo Lola.” At every ‘lo’, Sirius’s tongue reaches his top lip, pink and wet, and he makes this growling face, lips drawn back, at the last ‘Lola’ while Remus realizes that amongst all this madness, he’s got it bad for Sirius Black.

Things only get worse when another verse comes in and Sirius’s tongue won’t stay put behind his teeth; the way he makes his Ls are absolutely dastardly and Remus finds himself fixated on the other boy’s mouth. 

“Well, we drank champagne and danced all night, under electric candlelight-!” Sirius grabs Remus’s hands and pulls him to his feet, staggering a bit as Remus leans too heavily into him, and they nearly fall over as Sirius pulls him across the common room. Sirius keeps moving his mouth, Remus keeps stepping on his feet, The Kinks keep playing. 

Sirius spins him around the room, howling “Lola, lo lo lo lo Lola!” along with the music which seems to have gotten louder as Remus stumbles behind him, captivated and only wanting to be by his side for the rest of the night. These feelings don’t stop when the song stops, because Sirius is full of this musical energy and Remus finds himself  _ obsessed.  _

Remus is generally glad that he’s both drunk and high for this party, because otherwise he would probably be having some problems while working through the issue that he’s a bit captivated, both romantically and definitely sexually, by his best mate. What’s up with that?

Mary’s magically tuned her radio to BBC 1 and they’re playing The Rolling Stones, thank god, even though Remus disapproves of the BBC generally.

“They outlawed the pirates!” Remus explains to Sirius who stares at him wide eyed, clearly not understanding a word out of his mouth. “They’re trying to cater to a market that the pirates created, it’s capitalism, it’s bollocks! It’s a bloody monopoly!”

“Moony, what are you on about?” 

“The spirit of radio, Sirius!” 

“Shh, dance with me!  _ If you can’t rock me, somebody will! _ ” Sirius sings, shaking his head to the music. “Literally, Moony, I’ll go dance with Peter if you won’t be bothered!”

“No, don’t say that! I don’t want you to dance with Peter. I’ll explain pirate radio to you another time.” Sirius waves off his words and grins as a guitar solo overtakes them. So Remus just lets it happen. Loud drums, loud guitar, Sirius all dark and handsome as though he has any right to look that  _ good,  _ christ! Remus is filled with an insane compulsion to pull the other boy close and snog him because what would be the problem there? 

Remus can see this, too, perfectly clear in his mind. One hand on the back of Sirius’s head (tangled in his hair, preferably), the other on his waist, pulling him forwards and pushing him back all at once, just  _ touching  _ him, hands all over his body, Jesus Christ, what a dream that would be, but then the song ends and Bohemian Rhapsody starts.

It’s unfortunate that since the song came out in October, the muggleborns and half-bloods with radio access at Hogwarts have gone absolutely mental about it. The damned thing is nearly six minutes long, and although Remus loves to sit down to a years long guitar solo from Hendrix or Funkadelic, he’s heard this crap played  _ way  _ too many times over the past weeks. Especially since the damned BBC seems all over it.

Sirius does not hesitate to start participating in a duet with James, who’s latched onto the song with the abandon of a gleeful child. They sing “any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to meee” while Sirius plays a fake piano and James holds an invisible microphone in front of him, miming shooting Sirius in the head while the black haired boy collapses and James’ voice takes on a harsh timbre that Remus is sure Freddie would never approve of.

Sirius drags himself off the floor, hair in his face, while grabbing onto James and nearly shouting- “If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on!” Remus’s legs have decided to give out on him yet again (weed has a way of doing that to him), and he sinks down onto the nearest place for him to take a seat, this one being the floor.

James is giving this karaoke cover his all, and takes liberties with an air-guitar solo that Remus thinks he could do a much better job at. These five minutes and fifty five seconds end up being the longest of Remus’s life. In his drug addled mind, these minutes are even longer than the moments he’d spend lying on the floor after a transformation in the Shrieking Shack, praying for either death or unconsciousness to sweep him away quickly.

This isn’t so much different. 

When the rock part of the song starts up, James jumps on the coffee table while Sirius bounces on the couch, muddying it with his boots and leaping onto the coffee table while James jumps onto the couch. Sirius draws out the “Nothing really matters to me” while James sings along, their voices matching in rough discordance. 

Sirius is stood atop the coffee table in these ripped up black jeans and his Stooges t-shirt, all black, all dark, all  _ sexy,  _ and Remus only manages to scrape himself to his feet because the sight of his friend standing there in all his punk glory is currently too much to bear. 

“Oi, Moony, where are you off to?” Sirius catches him by the stairs and Remus turns with a red face, hoping he’s not giving too much away.

“To puke,” he responds, and then dashes up the stairs while Sirius watches him go, obviously confused. Remus locks himself in the bathroom and does not puke. It had been a lie to distract from the fact that he’s very much turned on. It’s a sure sign that these feelings are not confusion. It’s an  _ insane  _ sign that he’s got a stiffy over the sight of Sirius jumping on the sofa while singing Queen at the top of his lungs. 

Remus turns on the shower as hot as it’ll go, struggles out of his clothes, and then shuts himself in the shower to give himself a pull because there’s no way he can ignore this, especially not tonight, when Sirius is completely in his element and so, so easy to love. 

The half tight, half swooping feeling in Remus’s stomach increases tenfold as he closes his eyes and pictures Sirius the way he had been while finishing off the song, standing tall and proud on the coffee table. His hair a bit of a mess, his face wide in a laughing grin, chest heaving up and down underneath that tight black shirt that Remus had gifted him.

Remus then thinks about what must be underneath that shirt. His mind immediately flashes to June, end of fourth year, seeing Sirius’s white skin in the lake, all fluid under the clear water. Remus imagines Sirius in the shower with him, those blue eyes and that fit body, his hair soaked around his broad shoulders, oh,  _ christ.  _ Remus makes a useless, groaning noise as he comes, and then stands breathless and shaking, feeling his heartbeat through his whole body.

It’s just as well that there’s a knock on the bathroom door as soon as Remus gets his breathing back under control.

“Moony?” It’s Sirius’s voice. Remus understands that James is probably plastered and making a fool of himself by trying to impress Lily, and has no real reason to go follow him upstairs. “Are you sick?”

“I’m having a shower!” Remus calls over the sound of the water.

“Are you gay?” Sirius asks, and Remus pulls back the shower curtain for better hearing and shouts- “ _ What?!” _

“I said ‘are you okay?!’” Sirius calls back, in a matching louder tone. Remus drags the shower curtain back and starts laughing, holding his head in his hands while water soaks his hair. 

“Yeah!” Remus’s voice is choked with ridiculous laughter, and he finds that he can’t stop laughing. These emotions are bloody fucking  _ insane.  _ “Yeah, I’m all good!” 

“Grand!” There’s no further conversation, thankfully, and Remus turns the water cold to calm himself down before stepping out of the shower. He thinks about awful things while brushing his teeth, mainly about his mum and her impending death, so he generally feels safe while exiting the bathroom. Music is still playing downstairs, but Sirius is up in the dorm room, sitting on his bed and eating a cupcake. There’s a few wrappers around him, like he’s had more than one, and Remus smiles at the sight of him. 

He would go sit by Sirius and help himself to one of the birthday cupcakes, but that’s probably a Very Bad Idea, and Remus sits at the edge of his own bed to watch the other boy.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Greatly,” Sirius responds. “Everything tastes  _ so  _ good.” 

“What’s that, then, your fourth cupcake?”

“Fifth.” Sirius has a dot of frosting at the edge of his nose. Remus’s heart aches. “I think I’ll be a chef, when I graduate, and I’ll smoke a zoot every day so everything I cook is marvelous and amazing. And I’ll be so famous and everyone will love me.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Sirius finishes the cupcake and drops the wrapper onto his bed, before frowning at the rest of them, and pushing them onto the floor without another care. 

“Are you ill, then?” 

“No.”

“You said you had to throw up.” Remus had somehow forgotten about that. 

“Oh, just thought I might. I’m fine. How are you feeling?” Sirius beams at him blearily, the frosting still on his nose, and Remus thinks that he could talk to Sirius forever and ever. 

“Sleepy,” he confesses. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay.” Remus knows what’s coming next but still considers himself unprepared for what Sirius asks.

“Give me a cwtch?” Remus feels hot all over and thinks that of all the ideas Sirius has ever had, this must be the worst. His blue eyes are big and pleading, pupils wide and dark, features vulnerable and soft. “You’re the best, Moony, I never sleep well without you.”

It’s unfortunate that Remus always has to be the big spoon when they end up tangled unceremoniously up in bed together, as platonic as anything. If Remus lay in Sirius’s bed and served as a cuddle partner, he knows his awful, hormone addled body would betray him sooner or later. And he can’t spend the night thinking about his mum dying just to avoid a hard on. It simply won’t work.

“Erm….” There’s just no proper excuses and besides, Remus has always been a terrible liar.

“It’s my birthday! Come here, come on, last gift of the night.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus tells him as he climbs into bed beside him. Blissfully and thankfully, Remus falls asleep quite quickly. They’ve turned the lights off, and the music downstairs isn’t so loud anymore, and Sirius’s bed is warm and smells just like him, so Remus drifts off to sleep. 

It’s once again unfortunate that private thoughts don’t magically disappear in the confines of sleep. Remus dreams that night. It’s not a bad dream, actually the opposite, and it’s vivid enough to leave tracing stars in his eyes.

Him and Sirius are back in the Black Lake. Swimming. At first. Swimming turns into something different when Sirius wraps his wet arms around Remus’s bare chest and spins him around in the water, grinning up at him under hair that’s magically grown back down his shoulders, dark eyelashes wet with lakewater, smile so electrifying that Remus isn’t sure it should be allowed in water.

Remus reaches a hand out to brush Sirius’s wet black hair out of his eyes, and Sirius leans up to kiss him. It’s very  _ wet,  _ sort of messy but altogether passionate, and Remus feels Sirius’s other hand move lower down, touching his soaking wet pants (all he’s wearing), and when Remus wakes up from his lakeside dream, he realizes that his pants are well and truly wet. Still wet. Not lakewater after all.

Remus briefly considers death. Then he realizes that Sirius is still asleep. Once he falls asleep, he sleeps like a rock, and even after skipping breakfast is often late to class, hair tousled from sleep, uniform often undone and a general mess. Remus slowly removes himself from the bed, and peeks past a gap in the curtains to see James doing sit ups on the floor beside his bed. Blast. 

Remus and Sirius usually wait until James and Peter have gone down to breakfast before exiting each other's beds after a night spent together. Even though there’s nothing sexual between them and they’ve honestly never discussed romance with each other, there’s a hanging fear of judgement looming between them and it’s unspoken that they don’t share their nighttime arrangements with their friends. 

Remus would just stay in bed until Sirius wakes up, but it takes once glance at the boy lying next to him to understand that it’s not the best option. There’s a telltale damp patch on Remus’s pyjama trousers, and he’s getting that fluttery warmth in his belly that’s already pooling in his sternum. 

This isn’t going to work. Not even breakfast time and Remus is already losing his both mind and control of his body. No, no. This won’t do at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also? i have another playlist to impart of songs that they listen to in this fic / ones that sirius dances to very sexily / 70s jams in general. you can find it right [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/42uI5hWyQbVq31xRQ9JGCR?si=RaN_-aqaShm4NkmlBYrcYQ)! i definitely recommend listening to 'lola' by the kinks, at least, if you haven't before.


	65. [YR 5] Don't Leave Me Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for walburga black

_ under bad signs we were born into families that had sworn up and down that they would keep us safe _

_ i’m classically sad and i’m inclined to get mad and i dwell upon mistakes that i’ve made _

_ it keeps me awake at night, the realization that i might be a drag that no one wants to inhale  _

**s**

Unlike most people, Sirius doesn’t enjoy holidays very much. In theory, he would love to celebrate Christmas or spend a long summertime full of fun and friends, but his family always somehow serves to put a damper on things for him, and he finds himself in a precarious position during the first week of December when Professor McGonagall collects the names of everyone staying at Hogwarts over winter break.

“You’re staying?” Sirius asks James in dismay as his friend gets up from the table at dinnertime to go add his name to her list. James looks a bit awkward, shifting back and forth, and glances up at Peter, who’s already up by the staff table and talking to McGonagall.

“You know, we’ve got O.W.Ls and all, and it might be a better idea to just stay here, this year. Why don’t you stay?”

“I can’t.” Sirius responds. Blacks don’t stay at Hogwarts over winter holidays. His mother thinks that it looks pathetic to leave your children at school when they’ve the option to come home, as though their parents don’t care enough to spend Christmas with them. The irony is a proper laugh. “Moony, are you staying?”

“No.” Remus says shortly. “I’ve got to spend time with my mum.”

“Huh?” James asks. “Don’t tell me she’s  _ ill _ ?” There’s a laugh in his voice, but Sirius quickly understands that Remus hasn’t told James about his mum’s cancer, and James looks cluelessly down at him with the question still hanging in the air.

“Actually,” Remus begins, his voice cold enough to give them goosebumps, “she is. And she’s not got long left.” That kills the mood. James’s eyes widen and he runs a hand back through his hair, looking even more awkward than before.

“Merlin, Remus, sorry, I had no idea! Wow, I’m so sorry-”

“James, why don’t you go talk to McGonagall?” Remus glares up at him and James nods quickly, pronouncing it a great idea, and he abandons the two of them at the table. Remus’s eyes flicker over Sirius only briefly, and then he returns to pushing food around on his plate. For the last month, Remus has grown colder and colder to Sirius for reasons absolutely unknown to him. Sirius had wracked his mind for reasons this might have happened, but can’t come up with anything bad enough to justify this behavior.

Even on November’s full moon, after the transformation, Remus had told the three of them to leave as soon as he had returned to human form. Sirius wanted to stay with him, talk to him, make sure he was alright, but Remus had gotten all cross and James had, with an odd mix of gentleness and firm conviction, made Sirius leave the Shack.

Sirius would have invited Remus up to the Astronomy tower to talk things out. He would have accosted him in the dorm rooms, or dragged him aside after History of Magic, or sought him out after dinner. These things simply aren’t easy, because Remus has been avoiding him. Sirius has Quidditch practice and Remus has prefect patrols; Sirius has nothing to do and Remus has to study for OWLs; Sirius sits around pining and Remus has his tutoring club to attend to.

It’s miserable. 

“...So I guess I’m going home for the holidays after all.” Sirius mumbles, oddly disconsolate and in a state of feeling sorry for himself. Who is he? Remus Lupin? Said boy glances up at him with a line of worry between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius, honest. I wish you could come to mine again, but this year just… it’s not going to work.” Sirius remembers the previous years’ winter holidays with a fond nostalgia often so strong that it makes him want to cry. 

The cold fog of Wales had wrapped him like a blanket of misty comfort. He remembers the warmth of the Lupins’ small house after coming in from the chill, remembers walking Luke in the mornings, drinking hot chocolate in the evenings, watching crazy muggle T.V. programs in the cluttered living room, waking up and falling asleep safe. 

He swallows a stubborn lump in his throat. 

“You’ll be okay, at home?” Remus is still looking at him, and Sirius thinks that this is the longest he’s been able to keep his eyes on him for months. 

“No.” Sirius mumbles, feeling childish and weak. “But what can I do?” Remus glances down the table to where Professor McGonagall seems to be undergoing a painful interaction with James. Sirius catches on to his unsaid ideas. “No,  _ no,  _ Moony, I’m not talking to McGonagall about it.”

“I didn’t say anything-”

“Right, but I got the point. I’m not talking to her.” 

“Suit yourself.” Remus goes back to picking at his food. The rest of dinner doesn’t serve to make Sirius feel any better. Marlene arrives late, saying she’d been at Dueling Club, and then asks obliviously if they’ve signed up to stay at school for the holidays. It’s no surprise to Sirius that she’s staying at school as well, and he finds himself in an unfortunate, unhappy state for the rest of term.

Winter creeps into the Scottish highlands but Sirius spends more time than usual out on his broom, even though Quidditch practices have become few and far between due to the frigid weather. Despite the snow and blustery, frozen conditions, James accompanies Sirius a few times a week to go chase snitches, or beat bludgers at each other to work out their anger. Sirius relishes the feeling of pure adrenaline and always is regretful when they have to go back inside, after the sun sets for good on the white backdrop of life and leaves them in the freezing darkness. 

A frozen bitterness sets in over the last weeks of 1975. Nothing’s funny anymore. Everyone else seems so busy and Sirius finds some refuge in Mary and her assorted friends, enjoying spending time with Olivia and Katherine. They hang out often and Sirius comforts himself for a few hours by not having to feel like himself. The four of them often talk fashion, and sometimes Sirius is dressed up in what essentially equates to drag. 

Olivia will do his makeup, and Mary will give him a dress to try on, and he’ll parade about the dormitory while all of them laugh on his behalf. Sirius finds some odd enjoyment in the cross dressing, though it’s not like he would mention it to them. 

But sometimes, he’ll glance in the mirror to see his grey eyes brightened by dark eyeliner, feel a skirt swishing around his legs instead of trousers, and think  _ this is fun.  _ Playing pretend. Being someone else, just through clothes and makeup. Not having to be Sirius Black if only for a few minutes.

Winter holidays arrive, and James and Peter accompany Sirius and Remus down to the Hogsmeade Station to see them off. Once Peter says goodbye and Remus boards the train, James pulls Sirius to the side with this inane expression of gravity on his face, one that’s never suited him and that Sirius hates to see.

“If anything’s wrong, you can always leave.” James tells him. “Go to Andromeda’s, or go visit Mary, but don’t stay if they’re treating you badly.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius mumbles awkwardly. “And don’t call on the mirror, okay? I can’t risk being overheard.” James now looks even more concerned.

“There’s nothing holding you there, okay, mate?” Sirius just nods, finding it unnecessary to explain that running away would be a whole complicated maneuver that he’s not got the energy for these days. James pulls him in for a hug which is jerky and uncomfortable, one which Sirius only half returns because at the moment, he hasn’t the heart to be expressly thankful for James’s kindness and affection.

The train ride is as awful as expected. 

Remus buries his face in a book while Mary teaches Sirius assorted muggle card games. It’s only the three of them in the compartment, and since Mary and Sirius have made up, they can probably keep talking for the whole ride if set to it, but Mary gets bored after a few hours of brainless chatter.

She punches up her backpack to make it reasonable enough to use as a pillow, props her feet in Sirius’s lap, lays her tie over her eyes to block out the light, and falls asleep splayed across the seat. It takes twenty minutes for Remus to glance up at Sirius, who had busied himself by staring out the window as cold, wet landscapes blur before him. What he’d give to escape the U.K. for good. 

Remus’s amber eyes are focused on him with this strange intent that gets Sirius feeling restless and uncomfortable. 

“Moony, why are you angry with me?” He asks, trying to start a conversation to alleviate the tension and picking a topic unfortunate enough to bring the tension right back. Remus sighs. Flickers his book closed around the scrap of parchment that he uses for a bookmark.

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Then why’ve you been acting angry?” Remus looks generally regretful.

“I haven’t been  _ meaning  _ to, honest, like. There’s just so much schoolwork, and my bloody tutoring sessions, and my mum…” He drifts off at that, face turning more closed off, and crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “I’m sorry,” he adds, seeming like he genuinely means it. “I’m sure things will get easier.” Sirius thinks that they won’t, but nods anyways, grudgingly and wordlessly accepting the apology.

They chat a little more as the train moves farther south, though Sirius would rather sit with the nausea that anxiety gives him and meditate on all the awful things waiting for him once he returns home. As the soft landscapes whirl into harsher ones, and then the suburbs of London turn into more crowded buildings, Sirius feels more and more unprepared for going home. If only he could stop time and stay in this carriage forever, with just Remus and Mary, safe people from a safe place away from Grimmauld. 

Sirius slides Mary’s feet off of his lap and shakes her gently, sort of amazed that she’d managed to sleep through the grand majority of the ride. 

“Home at last, are we?” Mary stands up and stretches widely. “Have a good Christmas, Remus!”

“You too.”

“And you as well, Sirius. Give it some effort.”

“I’ll think about it.” Sirius says as Mary hugs him.

She grins at them brightly and then glances out the window at the platform. “I cannot wait to see what my mum thinks of this piercing!” Then she leaves. Remus and Sirius stand awkwardly in the carriage. 

“I’d better go…” Remus starts. “My dad’s here. Bad sign.”

“Oh.” 

“Take care, okay?” Remus says this while turning to reach down for his trunk, and Sirius realizes that he’s not going to get a goodbye hug. Sirius is nearly burning with affectionate desire, knowing that he won’t be receiving any until next year at least, but doesn’t bridge the gap between them. The full moon had been earlier in the week, and Remus might still be in pain, even though he hasn’t hurt himself so much during his transformations anymore.

“I hope your mum’s alright, Moony. Have a good Christmas.” 

When Sirius arrives home, he’s barely passed through the door before his mother bears down upon him in a flash of anger.

“ _ What  _ have you done to your hair?!” She cries, grabbing at his grown out hair, knowing that he’d magically enhanced it to grow much faster than normal. “I cut it for a reason!”

“It grows fast!” He shoots back, watching Regulus disappear upstairs as he always does, never sticking around to see the Sirius-torture ensue. “I’m not going to cut it myself, at school!”

“Then I’ll do it for you…” Walburga trails off and Sirius wonders what he’s done now. He glances up at her warily, and sees that her steel grey eyes are focused on his ears. Oh, Merlin, his ears. “Sirius Orion Black, what do you mean by this?! Take these- oh, lord, take these  _ out _ !” His mother grabs at his ear, holding onto one of the silver earrings, and pulls at it, like she’s trying to rip it out of his ear.

Sirius shouts in surprise and pain, pushing back at her, feeling as though the earring is going to tear right out of his earlobe.

“Stop it, for god’s sakes, stop it, you’re going to tear my earlobe!” He screams. “I’ll take it out, I’ll take it out!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been walking around school with those in!” Walburga shrieks as Sirius raises hands to his ear to remove the earrings. “And your nails, too, oh no, Sirius, oh  _ no _ .” His nails are painted a glossy black, courtesy of Olivia Campbell, and she grabs his hand very roughly to cast “ _ scourgify _ ” on his nails, causing his earrings to drop to the floor. She charms the polish off of the other hand, and vanishes the silvery earrings lying on the carpet before Sirius can bend down to pick them up. 

Then they stand in silence, glaring at each other as though they’re about to duel. Walburga speaks first. 

“I genuinely cannot believe the dishonor that you continue to bring upon this family. I have never been more ashamed of you in my  _ life _ . You’re a disgrace to this family, an embarrassment all around, and at this point, I’ve given up on you. Now go to your room. I’ve had enough of you already. Don’t bother coming down to dinner tonight. Or any night, for that matter, unless you cut your hair. I can’t stand the sight of you.” 

Sirius has no qualms about retreating upstairs to his attic bedroom, and he lets out a loud sigh as he flops back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His room is freezing, and he shivers. Remembers Remus handing him his soft jumper with this thoughtful look on his face, and is warmed up just by the thought of him. Sirius has trouble being away from his friends for long periods of time, and he’s already aching for proper human interaction with people who aren’t his blasted, crazy family.

So he writes Remus a letter. Truly, it is one full of complaints and wallowing enough to justify not replying to, but Sirius knows Remus won’t mind. He never seems to.

_ Dear Remus, _

_ How’s things at home for you? Things are dreadful here, no surprise, and I’ve been henceforth banned from eating dinner (until Christmas, I’m sure, when the rest of the family will be over) because I’ve upset my mother to an alarming degree. It’s the earrings, mind you. Though the nail polish properly did her in. She looked like a demon, all blazing eyes and forked tongue. Walburga-Lucifer-Black. I swear she’s hiding a tail. Thinking I’ll get a tattoo next, see where that takes her! _

_ My room’s a bit of a disaster since I’ve put up some muggle posters of ladies wearing less than acceptable dress and left them there with a permanent sticking charm, so Kreacher has tried to paint over them but has given up halfway through, reasons unknown. Most likely because he’s too short to paint up any higher, but then again, he could have just used magic. Lazy blighter. There’s all this paint splattered all over the wall, a job badly done, and I think I might finish it, but the paint is black and it might be like living inside a coffin, don’t you think?  _

_ Anyways, I’m already missing Hogwarts, and you, and everything else under the sun that doesn’t fit into this house. I’ve half a mind to write Mary and go stay with her family, but it’s a bit late for that. Maybe I’ll go on an adventure related to sleeping rough on the London streets! Might be fun, if not for the rain. I could bring a tarp and a big umbrella, though. I’ll keep you updated on that plan of events. _

_ Well, I hope you have a good Christmas. Let me know what you get! I’ll live vicariously through your gifts. Better be something good to please me. Give Luke a big hug from me, I miss that little bastard. And send my love to your mum.  _

_ Peace and love,  _

_ Sirius  _

Sirius sends the family owl off with the letter the next night after his parents leave for a function with the Malfoys- Regulus in tow. Sirius is glad that they’ve left him at home, even though he knows that all the portraits plus Kreacher have no doubt been instructed to keep a close watch on him, and report back to his parents exactly what he’s done.

But he’s never thought posting a letter would be his downfall.

He’d been lying in bed reading a music magazine that Remus had leant to him - Melody Maker, with their issue about Led Zeppelin. An indignant shout from downstairs, and then a pop when Kreacher apparates into his bedroom. Sirius tells himself that he knows what’s coming, but isn’t prepared for just how much he’ll grow to regret one innocent letter to Remus.

“Mistress Walburga requires Master Sirius’s presence downstairs.” Kreacher rasps, regarding Sirius with hateful eyes. 

“Cheers, Kreach.” Sirius tells the elf as he apparates away. Sirius stands up and works to bury the muggle magazine under his mattress with the rest of the ‘contraband’ from school that he’s got to hide unless he wants Kreacher throwing it away when he’s not there. Sirius’s heart starts thudding in his chest after the first flight of stairs, and he can hear his mother’s voice grow higher and higher as she rants to his dad.

Once he reaches the ground floor, Walburga storms out of the dining room and Sirius’s eyes widen when he sees the letter in one of her shaking hands. 

“Sirius, I can’t- I can’t believe this anymore. This is how you talk to me behind my back? Is this a  _ joke _ ?” Sirius is terrified. He won’t lie. He’s not sure if he’s offended his mother to this extent before, and has no idea what the consequences will be. 

“I mean- the things you say about me! Calling me a demon! Suggesting that this is the worst place you could be, as though you’d rather be out on the streets! How could you say these things? How  _ could you?!”  _ She’s properly screaming at him, and once she gets started, she hardly ever stops. Sirius wonders where his father is, and wishes he were there to make things better, but he’s not. No one’s there to defend him.

“After everything I’ve done for you! Everything!” Sirius stands with his jaw clamped so tight that it feels like his teeth might shatter. “All the tutors, the governesses, the money I’ve spent raising you! And what do you have to show for it? Ingratitude! Complete and utter ingratitude! Never once have you said ‘thank you’ for any of it.” Sirius thinks of every time he’s told his mum “thank you” with genuine feeling in his voice and works back the tears building in his throat.

“I am grateful, I really am-”

“Prove it!” Walburga shouts. “Prove it!” Sirius stares at her desperately, not knowing what to say. “You can’t, can you?”

“I don’t know what you want from me!” It sounds childish and stupid, but Sirius hadn’t asked to be born. He didn’t ask to be raised by the Black family, given tutors at a young age, and raised by countless governesses with faces that didn’t look at all like his mother’s. 

“You could behave, you could do what I tell you! Why can’t you be  _ obedient _ !? If I want you to meet the Dark Lord, you should be honored! Honored, Sirius! If you want to prove your gratitude, you could join your cousin when she offers to take you on a mission!” Sirius knows that any backtalk will genuinely ruin him, so he bows his head and presses his lips together because he wants to cry, wants this to be over. Even though it’s all his fault.

“What do you have to say to that?” Sirius bows his head, closing his eyes, not knowing the right thing to say or do. Any movement or wrong move will bring the world crashing down on him, and right now, silence seems like the best option. “Look at me.” Sirius blinks rapidly because she always reduces him to tears, fucking  _ always _ , but he won’t meet her eyes because his are watery and red. Why can’t he let this roll off his back? Where’s his laughter now?

“Do as I say.” Then, a very queer feeling washes over him and his chin tilts up without him moving. He stands with his back straight as he stares at his mother, hatred and shame and guilt working up in his throat as tears slip down his cheeks. He can’t move. Walburga stares at him like he’s a plaything. Which he is, right now. He’s under the Imperius curse and has no control over his own limbs, which is why the tears are falling down his pale cheeks.

“Sirius, you’re going to go upstairs and shave your head, do you understand me?” Sirius nods. “And then, just for something to do, I would like you to figure a number for me. I want you to figure how much it cost me to raise you, is that clear? So one day, you can pay me back every penny, and I will no longer have to think of you as my son, as an ungrateful leech. Do you understand me, Sirius?”

Sirius nods again. It’s like he’s in the backseat of his body, watching himself move through the screen of his eyes, but having no control over it. Honestly, it’s sort of peaceful to let someone else be in charge of him. 

Maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s easier to give in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really, genuinely, very much sorry about how much of a slow burn this is. i have paired sirius & remus with other people just to give them something to do because i'm awful! it's not (too) long now until wolfstar starts happening but there is some shit to muddle through before we get there. just sit back and enjoy the angst for now (AND the dorlene.... just u wait)


	66. [YR 5] I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought me to TEARS while writing, i am so sorry. no real cws except for some sadness! (i'm sorry!!!)
> 
> lyrics are from "i've got you" by camp cope which is a very beautiful, very sad song that i recommend. 
> 
> also unrelated but for anyone else who may be on the west coast, i hope you're staying safe! i was released from dorm quarantine & then the forest fires began so basically i'm still stuck inside because of all the smoke :0 it's a hard life

_ i’m so proud that half of me grew from you _

_ all the broken parts too _

**r**

Remus had seen his dad standing on the platform while rolling into the station and knew instantly that something was wrong. Lyall had looked worse than ever. Dark bags under his eyes, pale face, lines on his forehead like he’s got nothing to do with his time but frown. 

Sirius had been busy feeling sorry for himself, but now puts on a brave face as he wakes up Mary and says goodbye to her. Remus watches them from under low eyes, watching the gentle gestures of Sirius shaking Mary awake, and the brave face he puts on while hugging her. 

Remus wants to hug him goodbye. Fingers through his thick black hair, and it’s growing back long, now, just the way Remus likes it. Wants to feel Sirius’s embrace one last time before they separate across the country for miserable, lonely holidays by themselves. 

But Remus can’t. Sirius is a  _ flirt,  _ a flirt who dances to The Kinks with sparkling eyes and chats up every girl he talks to, so his dancing with Remus had been nothing more than a friendly joke, and Remus can’t look at him without getting all hot and bothered, so they don’t hug, in fact, they hardly say goodbye, and Remus regrets it as soon as they separate. 

“Hi, Remus.” His dad approaches him looking nervous, and pats him on the shoulder in greeting. “How was the ride?”

“Fine.” Remus frowns up at his dad. He looks even worse up close, like he’s not slept in days. “Why’d you come?” Lyall shrugs. 

“Thought I’d come see you. Seems hospitable, doesn’t it? And I didn’t want you coming home alone.” It’s a nice, thoughtful gesture, but Remus doesn’t thank him. He always feels like the less he says, the better when he’s around his dad, and Lyall seems to reciprocate those feelings. 

Home is relief. When Remus steps out of the fireplace, he’s filled with warmth when seeing the familiar living room, and Luke’s grinning face as he wags his tail before jumping up on Remus. Remus sits down and pets the dog, hugging him close and kissing his head while talking in a babying voice to the dog in Welsh. 

Lyall appears a few moments later, and steps over the two of them on the carpet with an endearing expression.

“He missed you.” His dad tells him.

“Well,  _ I _ missed  _ him _ .” Remus responds, wiggling Luke’s floppy ears back and forth. “Didn’t I? I missed you  _ so  _ much, you silly little man. Yes I did!”

“Tea?” Lyall calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, please.” Remus gives Luke one final peck on his nose, causing the dog to sneeze, and then picks himself up to walk into the kitchen where his dad’s heated the kettle magically, and steam is already coming out the top. Hope always used to cook the muggle way, since his dad isn’t much good in a kitchen, but now that the two of them have been left to their own devices, food is always prepared magically, and it’s never anything that Hope would have approved of in the past.

“Your mum’s probably asleep already.” Lyall mumbles as he hands Remus a mug of strong tea. Remus isn’t quite sure how to reply, and his dad doesn’t mention her condition any further. “Term was good?”

“Yeah…” Remus thinks about all the things he’s done over the past few months, but can’t think of anything that might remotely interest his dad. “I’m, er, sort of in charge of these tutoring sessions. Me and two other girls, we run them. Sort of fun.” Lyall nods slowly, eyeing Remus over his mug.

“What do you teach?”

“Ah, well, I’m mostly in charge of Defense and History. And some Charms. Julie, this Hufflepuff, she helps with Transfiguration. And Herbology, if they need it, but that’s easy. And this girl Pandora does Potions.”

“That sounds good. Are you doing it for a professor, or house points?”

“No… just to help out younger students.” 

“Career chats are this year, aren’t they? In the spring?” Remus had forgotten about career advice altogether, and wonders what McGonagall will have to say to him. 

“Yeah, I reckon they are.”

“Have you thought about teaching?” Remus shrugs. “Could be just like your mum…” Lyall smiles fondly, and Remus remembers his mother teaching him at home when he was young, even when he went to primary school, because she believed herself to be more capable than the other teachers. He’d always watch her leave for work as a schoolteacher and think about how strange it would be to teach children all day long. How  _ dull.  _ But times have changed.

“I’ll talk to McGonagall about it.” Remus finishes his tea and opens a few cupboards, looking around for food, and is only rewarded with canned soup and tins of beans. “Have we got any bread?” He asks, opening up the fridge to see if anything had been left to preserve in there, thinking that beans on toast would be okay, but Lyall just looks chagrined and tells him that there’s not much in.

“Your mum’s never hungry much, anyways,” Lyall adds by means of some strange comfort.

“What, she doesn't eat at all? You don’t make her?”

“Of course I give her food, Remus, she’s not got any appetite.” Remus gives his dad a sharp look. “This is what I can afford. Food options here aren’t as plentiful here as they are at Hogwarts, mind you.” Lyall’s voice has become clipped, and Remus sighs in defeat. He settles for half a tin of beans, and eats quickly before bidding his father goodnight and returning to his room.

The next day, after his dad leaves for work, Remus cracks the door to his parents’ bedroom and peers in to see his mum in bed, looking rather worse for wear. At least she’s awake, though.

“Remus!” Hope’s eyes are glazed. Face thin, skin stretched over bones, and Remus sees his mum but changed, somehow, ravaged by this illness. It hurts him more than anything. “Come here, love, give us a cwtch.” Remus moves forwards, watching as her bony hand pulls back the covers on the bed. He lays next to her, feeling like a child and she’s going to read him a bedtime story, or sleep there next to him after a transformation to calm him from nightmares. 

“How’s school? How was the term? How are you?”

“Good, good, it’s all good. Busy, I have some important exams at the end of this year, but I think I’ll do alright.”

“Oh? Like, O levels?”

“Sort of… these are called O.W.L.s, though. Ordinary Wizarding Levels. And then I guess A levels could be compared to N.E.W.Ts, that’s Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.” Hope laughs out loud and Remus smiles at seeing a bright expression on her face.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. The wizards have fun with the names.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do brilliant.” She looks at him, eyes brimming with happiness, and then pulls him closer. “Ah, come here, give your mum a hug.” Remus rests his head on her sunken chest, curls up a bit as though he’s just going to sleep, and listens to her wheezing breaths.

“Mum,” he begins, “why aren’t you getting treatment?” Hope sighs as though she’s had this discussion with her husband enough times over.

“Remus, it’s metastasized. It’s in my lungs, in my bones. If I did treatment, it would be more pain and I’d still die.”

“You’d have more time.”

“Months, maybe, and I’d spend them wishing I was dead already. Please, love. It’s bad enough as is.” Remus closes his eyes. It’s selfish, but he isn’t ready for her to die. He’s only fifteen. This isn’t fair. 

His voice is small and choked when he says “I don’t want you to die,” and his mum holds him closer at those words. “I don’t want to never talk to you again. I don’t want you to be gone. I love you so much.” 

“Dwi’n dy garu di hefyd,” she responds gently.  _ I love you too.  _ “But you’ll be okay. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I am so proud of you, I am. So kind, and funny, and brave. And  _ smart,  _ love, I was so pleased to hear that you’d been made Prefect! You’re going to do brilliant, brilliant things in the future, Remus.” He can’t hold back the tears now, and lets them drip slowly down his face. 

“And I’m so sorry I won’t be there to see what you do. But I’ll always be with you. You know that. I promised.” He remembers his first transformations, six years old and screaming in pain, not knowing what was wrong, only knowing that everything hurt and he was so, so scared. Hope would sit outside the cellar, pressed against the door, talking to him while he sobbed in fear. 

“It’s alright, love, I’m here, I’ll always be here,” she’d told him in a voice trying so hard not to shake. Hope had been strong for him. “I’m here, Remus, I’m here.” And in the mornings, she’d hold him after fixing up his wounds and tell him that he’d done nothing wrong. That he was loved, that he was good, that he’d never be alone. 

“Dwi’n mor falch.” She tells him again. “I am so, so proud of you. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.” Hope swallows heavily. “I’m sorry for how things went wrong. This is my fault, too.”

“No, don’t say that.”

“I drank, I didn’t treat myself right. And I’m sorry for whatever you might’ve inherited. The depression, like.” Remus falls silent. He’d never told either of his parents about what had happened during third year, when things had turned dark and black and cold. Sort of how they are now.

“That’s not your fault, either. There’s no blame, mum. Mae’n iawn.”  _ It’s okay,  _ he tells her, and he means it. He’d tell his dad the same thing. Remus doesn’t harbor any ill feelings anymore, not towards either of them, and he knows he can’t hold a grudge against his dad. It’s clear that Lyall feels just as bad about what had happened with Greyback. What can be done now?

“Diolch. Dwi ddim yn haeddu ti.” 

“Oh, mum, you deserve every good thing,” Remus responds to her in Welsh. His mum’s first language seems more fitting to have this conversation in. 

“So you do.” She replies gently. Remus looks at the bedspread in front of him, flowery patterned, the way it’s been since they moved to Mold five years ago. There’s this aching pain in his chest that holds him so tightly it nearly leaves him breathless. It’s heartbreak. It’s being not ready to let go. Powerlessness, hopelessness, being completely out of control. 

“Mum, I’ve got to tell you something.” Remus bursts out. 

“What is it, love?”

“I’m queer.” Once the words are said, Remus knows he can never take them back. “I’m queer, and I’m sorry-”

“No, no.” Her voice is firmer than it’s been all night. “Don’t apologize. Oh, Remus, why are you sorry?” She sits up in bed and he does too, crossing his legs and looking at her warily, seeing how much pain she’s in just by this basic movement. They sit in front of each other with blankets still over them, like kids, and his mother looks at him with this faraway expression on her face. 

“Remus, I love you. I love you. I’d love you no matter what. You’re my son. If you’re queer, if you’re a werewolf, if you were anything else, love, that doesn’t change how I feel. I could never  _ not  _ love you.” Now she starts crying and Remus moves closer to hug her, feeling her small frame in his arms and knowing that no matter what, he’ll never be ready to lose her. His dad is trying to distance himself from her approaching, inevitable death, but Remus could never. 

Not from his own mother. Not when she’s only got months left to live.

“I love you,” she tells him, as though she can’t repeat it enough. Those three words have always been so special for Remus to hear. “Rwy’n dy garu di. I love you.” Again and again and again.

Remus wakes up early the next morning. He doesn’t sleep so well when Sirius isn’t by his side, as sad as it is to admit. Cracks open the window and stares out into the grey mist of Wales. The beige countryside rolls off into the distance where it turns into fog. Swallows up everything. Remus adds to the grey haze by lighting up a morning cigarette. 

Somehow, his parents either remain ignorant to the fact that he smokes or don’t want to bring it up to him, but he smokes it fast and then descends downstairs to where his dad is eating a healthy breakfast of tea, and that’s it. 

“Hi, Remus, I’m off to work. There’s, erm… there’s tea to eat-”

“To eat?”

“To drink!” Lyall rubs his face blearily. He looks like he’s been up all night. “I was going to go shopping tonight, after work, get us some food for Christmas. Anything you want?” 

“Erm, I was thinking about making Welsh cakes, actually.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Okay…”

“I can get some eggs from Mrs. Davies, and some butter, probably, too. I’ll go check today.”

“Okay, thanks. Well, I’ll see you later. Have a good day.” Lyall gives him a little wave before stepping into the fireplace and throwing down a handful of powder, calling out “Ministry of Magic!” before disappearing in a whirl of green fire. The knock on the door comes moments after, and Remus is grateful that this unexpected visitor didn’t catch his dad using the Floo network this early in the morning.

Sion Pembroke stands on the other side of the door looking cold and damp, but Remus doesn’t hesitate before nearly pouncing on him with a huge hug. Remus nearly lifts the shorter boy off of his feet, and Sion jokingly laughs out an instruction to “Put me down!” 

Remus finally releases him and looks at the other boy, red faced and grinning. 

“Missed me?” 

“You’ve no idea.” Remus confesses. 

“You never told me when you were getting back, so I stopped by today. Mum’s taking me and Owen up to Liverpool for some Christmas shopping, if you’d like to come.” Remus’s parents had taken him up to Liverpool a few times after they’d moved to Mold, but then their car had broken down for good and anyway, his parents had sort of lost their interest in traveling.

“Oh, that would be lush! When are you leaving?”

“Soon as you’re ready.”

“Okay, let me get changed, and tell my mum. Come in!” Sion follows Remus inside and stands in the entryway, his boots dripping on the floor. He hops around one footed in his attempt to take them off, and then follows Remus upstairs while Luke trails them into the bedroom. 

“Ah, I’ve gotta walk Luke before we go,” Remus says as he pulls off his shirt and puts on a cleaner one, before picking up his favorite red jumper and tugging it over his head, feeling the static electrify his hair. “D’you mind?”

“No problem.” Sion is looking at Remus’s books with mild interest while Remus jumps into a pair of dark corduroy trousers. “What’s this, then? Magical Hieroglyphics and Logo... logro…log-” 

“Logograms.” Remus corrects him, looking at the book in Sion’s hand that he uses for Ancient Runes. “Just some weird reading, like. Found it for free outside a shop. Historical stuff.”

“Hmm…” Sion opens the book and starts flipping through it. Apparently not able to make much sense of it, he peers further at the others books. “Potions… charms... Remus, butt, what’s up with these?” 

“It’s just like, witchcraft stuff, I dunno. Sort of interesting.”

“Hmm.” Sion says again. “Alright, well.” He straightens up and takes a long look at Remus, who’s lacing up his own boots. “You look nice.” Remus grins cheekily.

“Anything for you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sion smiles though, endearing as ever, and puts on Luke’s lead while Remus scribbles a note to tell his mum that he’s left, and sticks it on the cabinet next to her bed. She’s still sleeping, which he reckons is good, for she’d probably be in more pain if she were awake. 

The walk with Luke is quick, even though the dog obviously wants it to be longer, but Remus doesn’t want to keep Sion’s family waiting. They walk back down the block to Sion’s house, where his mum and older brother Owen are waiting.

Remus has gotten to know Sion’s family decently well over the previous years, and has been invited over for dinner many times at their house. His mum has a blunt fringe and kind eyes. She hugs Remus in a very mothering way and asks how his year has been, while he replies in short sentences that are most often cut off by her.

“Alright, boys! Let’s ride!” The ride to Liverpool turns out to be one of the scariest things Remus has ever experienced. Owen sits in the passenger seat and plays the radio louder than necessary while reading directions off of a huge map to his mum, who has an astoundingly awful sense of direction and wobbles back and forth between lanes to such an extent that Remus wonders if she’s entirely sober. Once they reach the intersection of the M53, Remus even covers his eyes while the shouting in the front seat picks up.

“We’re headed  _ north,  _ mum, on the A41!  _ Not _ the M53, mum, get in the other lane!” 

“Mum!” Sion shouts. “Mum, it’s a rotary, they’ve got the right of way- watch out!”

“ _ YIELD!”  _ Both brothers shout at once, and Remus crashes against the front seat as Mrs. Pembroke slams on the breaks, laughing all the while. 

“Sorry, sorry, got a bit confused. A41, you said, Owen?” 

“Yes, mum…” Once they get to Birkenhead, Owen forces her to pull over and swaps seats with her to drive them into inner Liverpool. Owen turns down the radio and rolls down the windows, despite the chill, since Mrs. Pembroke has lit up an oblivious cigarette which starts to fill their old car with smoke.

Remus is decidedly nauseous and exits the car feeling intensely relieved. 

“Okay,” Mrs. Pembroke says, looking around at them, “Owen, you’ll come with me? It’s my last year with you, you know how I’ll miss you,” she begins, pinching at his cheek while Owen swats her away. “You two- behave yourselves! We’ll meet you back here at… how does five sound?”

“Sounds good.” Remus and Sion chorus together. 

“Have fun! Toodle-oo!” She checks her purse one last time and beams at them before dragging Owen off down the street. Liverpool hasn’t changed much in the years that Remus has visited. It’s dirtier, if possible, and Remus feels a bit wide eyed and innocent to be on the streets where most people seem to be living in a bad state. 

There’s a fair bit of beggars, and grimy looking people roaming the streets. 

“A bit bleak, innit?” Remus asks Sion quietly as the other boy pulls his knit cap further down on his head against the bitter wind.

“Ah, you know, Union troubles. Wilson’s having ‘em on. Look at ‘em there.” Sion jerks his chin at a group of people standing outside a building with hand painted protest signs. “No one’s got a happy job. Better in Wales.” Remus murmurs his agreement, feeling rather stupid that he hasn’t kept up with muggle politics. He vaguely knows that Harold Wilson is Prime Minister, and there’s an election for a new one next year. 

“Well, I’ve got a bit of money for gifts, do you reckon we should go to Lewis’s?” Sion glances over at Remus, who just shrugs. “It’s this massive department store. Alright, butt, you haven’t been? Let’s go!” With the wind at their backs, they all but fly down the street, and are released from the blustery breeze as they rush through the doors of a massive, five storied department store. 

Inside looks much more posh than the streets of Liverpool could be capable of creating. The floors are done in red carpet, and there’s little Christmas trees all over the assorted counters. It seems that the first floor is mostly jewelry. Remus glaces up, goggling at the asymmetrical chandeliers. Tinny Christmas music is playing over the speakers, and Remus doesn’t get a chance to look down before he’s elbowed aside by a group of loud women in fur coats.

“Oi…” Remus rubs his elbow defensively, moving to the end of the aisle to be out of their way. “Do you need any jewels, Sion?”

“Might get my mum a broach or summat.” Sion peers over one of the counters. “Let’s have a look around.” Remus follows Sion through the store. The chandeliers are bright bolts of light in the corners of his eyes, odd and distracting and so he focuses on the boy in front of him, still wearing that knit cap even though they’re inside. He watches Sion walk, watches him stand on his tiptoes to get a better look inside a counter, watches him turn with that silly grin that Remus keeps on store in his mind for the bad days where he’s missing someone.

Anyone.

“D’you need to buy anyone gifts?” Sion asks.

“My mum, my dad. Me and my mates already gave each other stuff at school.”

“Cool. We’re doing this Secret Santa thing this year, my friends and I, we are. You all draw a name, like. Everyone gets a gift. Less spending, are you with me?”

“Aye.” Remus smiles at his ‘are you with me?’, thinking of the familiar figure of speech that Caradoc uses. After maybe an hour exploring, Remus finally finds a collected series of books for a good price and decides to buy it for his dad. Then the hunt for his mum’s gift begins.

It takes Remus a good few moments for the gravity to hit.

“What about this  _ hat?! _ ” Sion offers, jamming a wide brimmed, fluffy purple hat onto his own head. Finally taking off his cap, Remus might note. Sion beams at him, his face all lit up purple, but Remus is coming to a very, very unpleasant realization. “Remus?”

“I’ve, er…” Remus feels like he can’t breathe enough, can’t breathe at all, and stares around the shop while Sion regards him worriedly. “I’ll be right back.”

“‘S everything okay?” Remus doesn’t reply, just pushes through the busy department store to find the restroom buried in the corner. The bathroom is shiny, with marble counters and bright lights that make Remus feel even more out of place as he shuts himself in a stall and tries to get his breath back.  _ Fuck.  _ He’d never considered this before.

What on earth do you buy someone for Christmas when they’re terminally ill?

“Remus?” Sion’s voice. “Remus, are you ill? I know you’re in heeree,” he drawls, knocking gently on the bathroom stalls until he reaches the locked one that Remus is in. “Open up, mate.” Grudgingly, Remus opens the stall door to see Sion’s goofy face with his halfway smile on. 

“My mum’s dying,” Remus confesses bluntly, “and I’ve no idea what present you get for someone who won’t be around to enjoy it.” Sion’s smile dies, and he looks at Remus with an unreadable expression.

“How long has she got?” He asks finally, as though not knowing how to properly tread around the topic. 

“A month or two, most likely.” 

“Ach.” Sion pats Remus awkwardly. “That’s tough, mate, I had no clue. I’m sorry. Come on, then, we’ll find her something anyways. I’m a great gift giver. Leave it to me!” With Sion as a brave leader, Remus follows him back into the overbright, over-happy store. Sion presents him with assorted things that might work for his mum, and at some point returns to Remus with a drawn print of assorted dogs sketched in black ink.

“They look sort of like Luke, don’t they?” Sion asks, glancing at the black ink dogs. “Very cute?” Remus gently takes the drawing from him. 

“This is good.” Voice quiet, thinking that if there’s anything his mum would like, it’s a simple drawing of a few happy dogs. One of them is bent down with his butt in the air, a stick balanced on his paws. It reminds him first of Sirius, then Luke. It’s titled “In Varying Moods’. It’s perfect. 

Sion pats him on the shoulder again, smiles familiarly, and Remus’s heart aches for him. 

Five o’clock arrives faster than expected. The sun has set, and the streets are colder than before. Remus instinctively reaches for Sion’s hand but the other boy gently pushes it away, lips a tight white line.

Remus whispers sorry, Sion scoffs a laugh and says there’s nothing to apologize for. Mrs. Pembroke and Owen are twenty minutes late to meeting them, both laden down with glossy shopping bags, and red faced in a way that suggests they’d hit the bar. Remus wonders who’ll drive them back. Mrs. Pembroke treats them to dinner in a restaurant, which gets Remus overwhelmed, and he tries to order the cheapest thing on the menu, though not after offering to pay.

“No, no, Remus, it’s my treat! It’s Christmas! Have whatever you want!” Mrs. Pembroke says, waving him off. “You two look far too serious, how about some wine?” She buys an entire bottle for the table, but Owen abstains responsibly, saying he’s got to drive them home.

Remus shares a Toad in the Hole with Sion, which is honestly big enough for all four of them to eat, and then Mrs. Pembroke buys them all dessert. Remus eats so much that he feels a bit ill by the end of it all. It’s probably the only Christmas dinner he’ll get this year, apart from a bit of turkey at home if they’re lucky, and his homemade Welsh cakes. 

The ride back is less stressful, as Owen’s behind the wheel for the whole journey. The lights on the motorway blur together as Remus leans his head against the frosted pane of the window, watching the dark world go by. It’s not long after crossing the border to Wales that they’re back in Mold.

Remus doesn’t get to say a proper goodbye to Sion since Owen drives up to his house to drop him off. So it’s a million thank yous to his mum for dinner, and the wine, and the whole trip, and is told once again that it’s nothing to worry about. Sion grins at him from across the car. Remus says goodbye, Sion says happy Christmas, I’ll see you for New Years? and Remus says yeah, says bye again, and then is left standing in the rain with his gifts. 

It might be a good Christmas after all. 


	67. [YR 5] Can You Feel It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some homophobia in the beginning & sexual content by the end 
> 
> also random but ummm i made a little page of all my marauders' 'fancasts' (basically the ppl i imagine them as) so it's [here](https://itnevergoesout.carrd.co/) if you'd like to examine

**1975 → 1976**

_ i look in her eyes, i think i’ve been looking for you all my life  _

_ she makes my heartbeat go faster, the thing is i trust her _

**m**

Christmas morning looks different than usual in the Hufflepuff common room.

The circular, high windows let in white light from the snow on the ground outside. There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, and hanging plants wind and snap in the air overhead, one of them tangling in Dorcas’s hair as the other girl grins while opening her last present- this one being a new package of colored eyeliner pencils. 

The crowd is a little strange, but not in a bad way. Dorcas and Marlene share a blanket on an ugly yellow sofa while Lily sits on the other end, feet in Dorcas’s lap. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Noah Halkirk, a blonde haired sixth year Hufflepuff with an endearingly freckled face, have also joined them. They’ve spent the morning opening presents, drinking hot chocolate, and spinning assorted records on Marlene’s player.

Her older brother Fraser had gifted her a new record by John Lennon appropriately titled “Rock N’ Roll”. Lily’s Queen record has stopped spinning when Caradoc and Benjy stumble down the stairs from the boy’s dormitory. 

Caradoc’s hair is all messy from sleep, reminding Marlene faintly of James. His cheeks are red as ever, and there’s a dopey smile on his face. Marlene looks at Benjy next, wondering why he’s been up in Caradoc’s dorm all night long, but then understands that the same question could be attributed to her and Dorcas.

Benjy’s hair changes every year, and this year he’s bitten the bullet and shaved both sides. Most days, he spikes the part in the middle into a shiny mohawk with points that look sharp enough to cut. And most days, teachers take points off of him for being out of uniform, although Benjy protests that ‘no mohawks allowed’ is definitely not mentioned in the Hogwarts student handbook. 

Benjy had told Marlene that he plans to make up for all the lost house points by winning the Quidditch Cup this year. He’s been made captain of the Ravenclaw team, and Marlene understands that he most definitely means business. 

On Christmas morning, Benjy’s mohawk remains unspiked, and his black hair falls flat over his eyes. He’s wearing an awful jumper knit in shades of bright green and red with the Caerphilly Catapults logo on it. Welsh colors. 

And everyone and their mother knows that Benjy supports Puddlemere United with a ferocity so strong that he’d bet upwards of fifteen galleons on them winning the final in the League last year. Marlene had been witness to his show of dramatic heartbreak when the Montrose Magpies (Marlene’s team) had won and he’d had to pay up to a grinning Ravenclaw in his year. 

So he’s wearing Caradoc’s jumper. So they might’ve celebrated Christmas Eve in a somewhat unconventional way. Marlene can put two and two together. She glances between the two boys as Caradoc pulls an ottoman over to their ground and beams at them blearily.

Dorcas is the first to break the silence. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas to you too, Dorcas!” Benjy responds, giving her a high five worthy of any Quidditch captain before sitting down on the ottoman next to Caradoc, apparently happy to share despite how small it is. “How are we all on this fine morning?”

“Doing well, how about yourselves?” Noah asks curtly, eyeing the pair of them a bit sharper than necessary. Lily and Kingsley also seem to have picked up on the dynamic between Caradoc and Benjy, but have enough sensibility to keep their mouths shut and eyes open.

“I’m doing  _ quite  _ well, Noah, glad you asked.” Caradoc responds in a voice too kindly to be taken as frank sarcasm.

“I didn’t know Fenwick stayed the night,” Noah pushes on. Kingsley frowns at him faintly, but Caradoc maintains his oblivious smile. 

“He’s a good bed warmer.”

“These Hufflepuff mattresses are well cozy.” Benjy adds cheekily. “The ones back in Ravenclaw are soft and all, but those springs get properly noisy if things get rough-”

“Okay, christ!” Noah shouts, scraping himself to his feet, shooting a dirty look at the pair of them. “Fucking faggots. Caradoc, I’ll be watching you. Christ above.”

“It’s Christ’s  _ birthday _ , Noah, don’t be so disrespectful!” Caradoc offers while Dorcas snickers. Noah scoffs at all of them before storming off across the common room and out the passageway leading to the hallway, while Benjy calls- “Jesus loves you anyways!” after his turned back. 

“Ah, well.” Caradoc says as soon as he’s gone. “More space for us, eh? Any plans for the day?” Lily meets Marlene’s eyes with a quizzical expression, but they both seem to come to the silent conclusion that if none of the Hufflepuffs are going to mention what just happened, then there’s no point in bringing it back up again.

“Lake’s frozen over.” Kingsley looks thoughtful as he tells them. “I checked it out yesterday.” Lily raises her eyebrows at Marlene.

“Is this what I think it means?” The red headed girl asks.

“Should I take a guess?” Benjy interrupts.

“Ice skating!” Marlene bursts out. 

“Yes!” Lily yells in return, face bright with excitement that lasts two seconds. It’s Kingsley’s questioning logic that brings them back to earth.

“You two brought skates?” Marlene sighs, relaxing back into the couch. 

“No, nevermind. Forgot we needed those.”

“You can go in shoes!” Dorcas pipes up. “Just slide around… what if I bring my skateboard? Is that a bad idea?” 

“You skate?” Benjy asks this with the wide eyed cluelessness that Marlene knows Dorcas hates as soon as it’s dawned on his face.

“Of  _ course  _ I skate, who would I be if I didn’t? Do  _ you  _ skate?” Her tone matches his in tones of incredulity. Benjy holds his hands out as if to say  _ I’ve got a mohawk and at least three safety pins jammed in each earlobe plus I’ve got a studded jacket covered in punk patches, and you’re asking if I skate? _

His words go more like: “Of  _ course _ I skate, Meadowes, I’m Benjy fucking Fenwick!” It’s only a few more minutes of back and forth before Benjy’s telling them all to hang on a few minutes while he runs to go get his board from the Ravenclaw dorms. 

Marlene, Lily, and Kingsley, all look around at each other. Maybe they can just slide on the ice in their shoes after all? Or cast a duplication charm on the skateboards to have a bit of fun? Marlene starts going down this mental path, thinking she could strap miniature skateboards to both feet and then go from there, but it’s Caradoc who finally speaks up.

“I can transfigure you two some skates, I think. Sort of…” 

“What do you mean?” Lily asks, turning around to face him properly while he talks. Caradoc looks thoughtful. 

“You guys have boots, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Bring ‘em to me, and I’ll try to transfigure some blades onto the bottoms.” At Lily’s weak protest, he just holds up a hand. “Hear me out. It’ll work.”

It does work.

Twenty minutes later breathing steam out on the frozen lake. Dorcas had explained to Marlene on the snowy walk down that despite his stoner reputation, Caradoc Dearborn is nothing short of genius, and had apparently scored all O’s on his O.W.Ls last year. Marlene watches the brown haired Hufflepuff sit on Benjy’s skateboard and tries to ride it through the snow like a sledge. Wonders if the O.W.L rumor is true.

The skates transfigured to the bottom of Marlene’s boots touch ice once they reach the lake, and she flies out across the frozen water, fast and then faster. The giddy, lighthearted feeling is nostalgia that comes from having grown up skating with her sister Katie. First around the frozen pond in their neighborhood, and when they were older, the ice rink in St. Andrew Square set up as part of the Edinburgh Christmas market. 

Lily’s right behind her, cheeks red to match her hair. She reaches out for Marlene’s hands. Both girls laugh while spinning each other, leaning back to gain speed. Skates cut ice and send shaved chips flying up at them. Lily’s red hair is a crimson whirl against the white white white of the Scottish Highlands on Christmas Day. Lets go of Marlene’s hands and the pair of them go spinning across the ice in separate directions, dizzy, laughing white hot breaths into the air. Just like dragons. 

Marlene whirls across the ice, two blonde plaits flying behind her as she skates up towards Dorcas. Her girlfriend is balancing precariously about the ice on her skateboard but still looks up with a warm smile when Marlene approaches her.

“Hiya! Is it slippery?” Marlene’s voice comes out in clouds of vapor as she skids to a sharp stop on the homecharmed skates. 

“ _ Yes! _ You know, some muggles swap out their normal wheels for ones with blades on the bottom, for proper ice-skate-boarding. Doesn’t it sound brilliant? Whoa!” Dorcas’s colorful deck wavers under her feet. As she tries to catch her balance, she slips and falls in one direction while her board jets off the other way. Marlene skates forward to catch her as she falls, feeling like some version of a romantic superhero. 

Benjy and Caradoc are sitting shoulder to shoulder on Benjy’s sticker-covered skateboard. Both boys have their legs out in front of them to steer, and shoot to the right to catch Dorcas’s board. Caradoc falls off one end after overshooting it, and slides across the ice on his back, skateboard held to his chest, while Benjy doubles over in laughter. 

Caradoc had earlier charmed Kingsley’s boots into skates just for the hell of it, and the Hufflepuff boy is balancing precariously on the ice while Lily skates around him and offers encouragement. Marlene thinks if the six of them were viewed from farther away on the grounds, they would look perfect. Ice skating, skateboarding, or otherwise standing with your girlfriend held tight in your arms because she’s just wearing trainers and there’s no way you’re letting her fall.

Dorcas turns around, her shoes slipping on the icy surface of the lake. The tip of her nose is red, and Marlene kisses it. It’s just a peck. Dorcas is apparently unsatisfied and kisses her on the lips. Marlene lets herself enjoy that proper, good kiss that melts the frozen air between them before remembering that they’ve got company, and pulls back feeling a little self conscious.

But either no one’s noticed, or it’s such a normality that no one even cares. 

Good company, Marlene thinks.

Dinnertime is a heartily festive occasion. There’s not too many people at the single table set up for students staying at Hogwarts over holidays, but Marlene is glad that Noah’s seated himself as far away from them as possible. Professor Dumbledore eats with them, along with a few other professors. Marlene sits in between Dorcas and Lily, the latter of whom pulls a Christmas cracker and shrieks in surprise when it bursts open with a bang loud enough to rival the blast of a cannon.

“Sorry!” The table is enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke. Lily tries waving it away, but it seems to thicken at the added movement. Once Potter stops laughing and a few moments have passed, the smoke clears up. Lily’s face is as red as her hair. “I didn’t realize it would be magical- oh!” She’s interrupted by a loud crash as something rolls off the table. 

“They come with gifts.” Marlene explains, ducking under the table to retrieve the present. “A kaleidoscope?” 

“Oh, wow!” Lily holds it up in front of one eye to peer through. “And it’s magical!” 

“What are muggle ones like?” Marlene asks as Lily pushes the golden tube into her hands. The kaleidoscope looks normal to Marlene: all glittering shapes and bright sparkles moving and dancing around by themselves. Vibrant psychedelic patterns whirl before her eyes. 

“Well, you’ve got to move the glass yourself,” Lily explains.

“Glass?” Marlene’s tone is clueless. On her other side, Dorcas scoffs. 

“Pureblood stuff,” she jokes with Lily, who nods knowingly. Oh, well. After finishing the magnificent Christmas puddings and Dumbledore comes to the end of a drawn out story he’s been telling that only Benjy and Peter Pettigrew had properly been laughing along to, everyone splits up to return to their dorms. 

Lily had spent Christmas Eve in the Hufflepuff dorms just for the means of celebration. She now explains that she’s got to finish the homework set over holiday, since she’s barely even started. For Marlene, however, it’s never much of a choice to follow Dorcas back down to the black and yellow basement. Wherever Dorcas goes is home.

**d**

New Years’ and both of them are sober enough to know why.

It’s cold outside. Dorcas knows the air would bite at her, flush red into her cheeks, snap up her dark hair with frost like some big wintry monster with gaping jaws. 

She stays inside. Marlene stays with her. 1976 rings in, and it’s just the two of them. 

“You could see fireworks from my dorm window,” Marlene says as though it matters. Who needs the Gryffindor tower when you’ve got the homey comfort of the Hufflepuff basement? “You could open the window and be inside a cloud of them.”

Maybe there’s something poetic about it, like being surrounded by Gideon Prewett’s hastily assembled fireworks display where you open your dorm window and all you can see for a moment is light so bright that you’re blinded. Before all of the sparks around you fizzle out and die. 

Only to be replaced by another. 

“You’re just as good, anyways,” Marlene continues. “You’re my firework.” It’s a stupid compliment but Marlene sticks her tongue out when she smiles so Dorcas thinks she’ll accept it either way. She doesn’t blush, anyways, because they’ve never been one to turn red at each others’ words. Just their touch.

Marlene giggles as Dorcas kisses her. Dorcas thinks that there’s no better feeling than someone you love smiling while you kiss them. Yellow sheets, black bedspread. Marlene’s blonde hair blends in with the pillowcase as she crashes down on the pillow, still grinning like even though it’s nighttime and winter in northern Scotland, the sun’s come out.

“Can I-?” Marlene tugs at Dorcas’s shirt and it takes a quick nod for the blonde girl to pull off Dorcas's t-shirt. “Your trousers, too.” Marlene’s voice is teasing. Her eyes sparkle, seaside blue, and Dorcas laughs while undoing her dark pleated trousers. 

Her outfit had been dark and boyish tonight. Dorcas loves fashion but it’s harder to put it to practice when the winter weather is so dreadful. Marlene had worn a jumper with dungaree shorts over it, and tights under the shorts to keep her legs warm. It’s sort of garish but indecently charming. And also a nuisance to get off. 

Marlene's blonde hair gets tangled in the buttons of her dungarees. She laughs while trying to undo herself from the complex layered outfit. Laughs while Dorcas moves back over her in just a bra and panties, hands around her pale back while trying to undo the clasps. 

Stops laughing once she’s nearly naked on the bed underneath Dorcas. Still straddling her, still wondering how she’s gotten so lucky. Marlene's pink lips are halfway open, pouted, swollen, and Dorcas kisses them over and over again. 

Dorcas thinks that this is captivation, that this love has nothing to do with the way the light works, more centered around Marlene’s warm body, her hands on Dorcas, her lips moving, eyes flashing until she shuts them. 

Dorcas traces one of her pink nails down Marlene’s stomach. Her underwear is purple and faded. There’s something heartwarming about having your first time in faded old panties. As though you don’t care about what the person touching you is thinking. 

“Don’t tease,” Marlene says gently, lifting her hips a bit, like an invitation that Dorcas cannot wait to accept. 

“This is okay?” Dorcas asks as she slides farther down Marlene's legs, feeling electrified but also sort of nervous. She’s never done this with anyone before. Not a boy, not a girl, not anyone. Dorcas isn’t sure if it’s considered sex. Dorcas isn’t sure  _ what  _ it’s considered at all.

Dorcas must be doing something right. Once her fingers are inside Marlene, the other girl gets all breathy as Dorcas moves her hand and arm, trying to figure out this strange position that they’re in. Marlene's face has gone red and she moves against Dorcas's fingers, pushing herself down while Dorcas pushes up. 

“Oohh,  _ fuck,  _ Dorcas, fuck.” Dorcas moves her hand in and out, faster, her fingers slick with come. It seems to last forever and it seems to be over in seconds. Marlene's sweaty and hot, her body warmer than ever, hair dark and slick against her temples. She shakes and gasps for breath, the most beautiful thing that Dorcas has ever seen, and then collapses back against the pillow as Dorcas removes her hand. 

It’s not the end of their night. Marlene gets her turn with Dorcas. It’s not as awkward as it could very well be. They’re experimenting with the sexual aspects of tonight, since it’s nothing either of them have ever done before, and after Marlene tries her hand at Dorcas, she realizes what she’s been missing out on. It’s just as good as New Years’ fireworks. Like anywhere Dorcas would turn, she’d just see bright light and feel this indescribable sense of joy and absolute bliss. 

Flickers out, in the end, but Dorcas still feels better than she ever has in her entire life. High on nothing but what Marlene has given her. 

“I think I understand, now.” Dorcas says as they lie in bed next to each other, panties on but nothing else. Both are sweating and hot, bodies smooth against the soft sheets. “Sleeping with people. It’s brilliant.”

“Agreed.” 

“You’re brilliant.” Dorcas continues.

“No,  _ you’re  _ brilliant.” 

“This is going in circles.”

“Ahh, yeah.” They lie in silence for a bit. Holding hands, of course. Shared touch, shared love. Dorcas remembers how she felt at the peak, at the top of it all, shaking and feeling waves and waves of pleasure that felt neverending. Dorcas had been on the brink of tears but then found it a bit dramatic. So she’d collapsed back onto her bed just like Marlene had and laid there processing everything.

Dorcas thought her knees would’ve given out if she’d had to stand up. It's like doing a loop-the-loop on a broom. Being nervous about exam scores and learning you’ve done the very best. It's relief, it’s adrenaline, it’s love and connection. 

“I was sort of upset,” Marlene begins, “about what happened with Caradoc and Benjy and Noah. Because it hurts that we can’t be public. Fuck. It makes me sad.” Dorcas quiets. “You know?” Marlene asks, sitting up and sliding down to pick up her shirt. 

“Yeah…” Dorcas sighs, leaning down to find her own shirt. “But we take what we can get, yeah? This has been amazing.”

“It has.” Marlene watches as Dorcas tugs the shirt down over her head and moves across the dorm to sit down by Marlene's record player. Marlene loves music so much that while spending these two weeks sleeping mainly in Dorcas's dorm, she’s brought her magical record player along.

“You know Patti Smith?” Dorcas asks. Marlene's music tastes mostly are influenced by Mary, Lily, and her older brothers. Sometimes Remus puts her onto some rock and roll, but otherwise she has a variety of wizarding music that Dorcas just can’t get behind.

“Nope,” Marlene sits up. The plaits she usually wears have been undone, and her blonde hair is wavy in a fashion that Dorcas rather likes. 

“Check this.” Dorcas puts on Horses and returns to sit on her bed. Patti sings loud and proud- “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine,” and Marlene smiles as the New Yorker keeps singing. Marlene seems to get the point when Dorcas’s favorite verse comes in, when Patti sings “Here she comes, she looks so good, oh she looks so fine, and I’ve got this crazy feeling that I’m going to make her mine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may have noticed that i'm a total and completely shameless music nerd which is WHY i'm explaining this to you.. patti smith was one of the first women in punk and dorcas is incredibly badass for listening to her. we really do stan. nothing hits like the line "jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine" man i can't lie!!


	68. [YR 5] Me & You Together

_ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right  _

**l**

Early January, and the ground outside is still frozen solid. Blizzards whirl outside, snow and ice and sleet making the world outside Hogwarts anything but temperate. It’s 1976, now, and the new year means that O.W.Ls take place  _ this  _ year, not the faraway dismissal of  _ next  _ year, so Lily starts picking up her studying and preparation for the exams.

And then she gets a cat.

Altogether, the whole thing had been a big mystery most likely attributed to Severus Snape, though not that Lily would ever thank him because the gift had been most definitely anonymous, and a surprise altogether. 

It had been a Wednesday morning, where Lily had Ancient Runes first thing. The previous night, she and Severus had been slaving away at a Draught of Peace until curfew had hit and they’d split up, exhausted from a long day of work. Two teary eyed first years had somehow locked themselves out of the common room, and Lily had been too tired to ask how they’d managed that when it’s been four months since school started.

Let them in, told everyone in the common room to go to bed, except Edgar and Gideon, because they’re older and they’d never listen to her anyways. Lily had crashed hard once finally in bed, but the next morning had been some sort of freezing, awful nightmare in which she’d woken up with a headache and a deep desire to bunk off class for the first time in her life. 

It’s never been a viable option, however. 

Gotten dressed in a daze, brushed her teeth for nearly ten minutes because she’d still been half asleep, and had dripped toothpaste foam all over her jumper, which is nothing that her robes can’t hide, and her hair was untidy and she smelled like toothpaste, and then she’d nearly stepped on the great big cat sitting on the steps outside the girl’s dormitory.

Lily had groaned out loud. Realistically, she could have left the creature behind and just waited for its owner to reappear and claim it, but she would have felt too bad about abandoning it. Knelt down to examine it and found that on the little collar around its neck was a note. Said note read “IF LOST, RETURN TO LILY EVANS.” 

So Lily has a cat.

She’s a Maine Coon. Spiky ears, sharp eyes, intensely fluffy fur that’s dappled grey and white. Honestly, she’s a beautiful cat. Lily skips breakfast and is late to Ancient Runes trying to figure out what to do with her, and ends up just leaving her in the dorms and hoping she won’t wreak any havoc. 

Remus sits next to her in Runes, and is already working on inscribing runes into a block of wood set in front of him.

“Morning,” he offers quietly.

“Good morning, Remus.” Lily sighs, a little more forlorn than necessary but a greeting either way. 

“How are you?”

“ _ Insculpo _ ,” Lily mumbles, pulling her textbook and the block of wood in front of her to start carving. “I got a cat, this morning. Well, she was left for me. With a note, on her collar, saying to return her to me if lost. So I guess she’s mine.” Remus raises his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” Remus glances over at her, somewhat impassively. 

“Why would I?” Lily shrugs. 

“Seems like something Potter would come up with, you know…”

“Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.” Remus is well known for his distinct inability to lie, and he seems generally truthful today. “Is she cute?”

“What?”

“The cat, is she cute?”

“Yeah, she’s super cute.” 

“What are you going to name her?” Lily honestly hasn’t thought that far ahead in her journey of cat ownership. She has, however, watched multiple episodes of Doctor Who and thinks briefly of The Doctor’s current companion, Sarah Jane Smith.

She says it before thinking, just offering up “Sarah Jane Smith?” as an option and Remus’s grin stretches the scars on his face.

“You watch Doctor Who?”

“Yeah!” Lily smiles as Remus shakes his head although in disbelief. 

“Wow, that’s brilliant. Sarah Jane Smith, ha! Great name for a cat.” 

“Mr. Lupin, Ms. Evans, if you will! You can catch up after class!” Professor Vo breaks up the conversation, but Lily chances another smile at Remus, who crosses his eyes and makes a face, earning a gentle elbow to the arm from her. After class, both her and Remus have a free period. 

“Library?” Lily is prepared to sit down for a good hour of studying, but Remus just smiles a little bashfully.

“Can I meet Sarah Jane?” As it turns out, Sarah Jane hates him. He tries to pet her with a gentle hand, and she hisses loudly, jaws bared while she gives his hand a good hard scratch. Remus puts some dittany on the wound and it heals up fast, but Lily is still overly apologetic about Sarah Jane’s shameful behavior. 

She doesn’t apologize when the cat attacks Sirius after dinner. 

Lily had told everyone about the mystery cat at dinner. The news had generated a fair amount of excitement. Hogwarts creates lots of homesickness, not just for family but pets alike, and the troupe of them had arrived in the Gryffindor common room eager to meet Sarah Jane. It seems that Sarah Jane is a bit temperamental. She’d hissed at both Dorcas and Mary, and had let Marlene pet her but held a generally upset expression on her face for the whole affair. 

When Sirius (who had most definitely had his fair share of attacks throughout the day due to his new hairstyle, or lack thereof, seeing as it’s all gone) holds out a hand for the cat to examine, he’s instantly ambushed.

“Oi!” He shouts as Sarah Jane pounces at him, hissing and snapping, raking her claws down his arm. “Ouch! Evans, get your beast off of me-!” Potter regards the scene and reaches for the cat that Sirius is trying to push off of him while in the midst of getting his arm torn to shreds.

“Potter, don’t touch her!” Lily shouts, worried that Potter might end up with some scars across his face to match Remus’s, but she’s further shocked when the cat doesn’t even hiss at Potter. He holds Sarah Jane like a baby, all fluffy and grey in his arms, and sits down on the couch next to a loudly complaining Sirius with the cat curling up in his lap like she’s been waiting for him all along. As he scratches behind her ears, she starts to purr.

To  _ purr.  _ She hasn’t even purred when Lily pets her! 

Potter’s grin is as crooked as ever and maybe it’s relief from not having his face rearranged by a twenty pound cat, or maybe it’s because of all the people for Lily’s cat to love, it’s  _ him.  _

“Give her back,” Lily snaps, holding her arms out for Sarah Jane.

“Aw, come off it Evans, she likes me! Give us some quality time. You love me, don’t you, Sarah Jane?” Potter directs this question to the cat, who purrs loudly in response. Feeling distinctly betrayed, Lily glares at Potter (triumphant is one of his worst expressions, she thinks), then at a still whinging Sirius, and finally at Sarah Jane herself.

“Fine.” Lily crosses her arms and huffs, understanding that she’s not going to retrieve her cat until later. There’s no need to make a fuss just because Sarah Jane has taken to Potter. It would be immature to demand her back. But Potter is still staring up at her, dark eyes glinting in a way much too friendly behind his glasses, and Lily realizes that she’s got to leave before he says something regretful.

“Evans, will you go out with me?”

“No.” Lily chews her lip. “I’m going upstairs. Bring Sarah Jane back before you go to bed.” Storms off and upstairs, wondering why Potter gets under her skin in that infuriating way, and why she even lets him.

**s**

As January wears on, Severus feels himself withdraw more and more from the few people he talks to. It’s nothing to do with him, more with  _ them,  _ because he’s never really found proper company in other people, and would much rather just exist in a world by himself, where judgements don’t need to be called upon and for the most part, he can be left alone.

No higher power seems to take pity on him. No one ever really has. 

Charms class with the Gryffindors and it starts by Potter strutting past Severus’s desk, making some comment about how he could do with using the Eradication Spell they’re learning on the hordes of bugs and fleas that must be infesting his shabby, patched up robes. Severus doesn’t reply, just wonders if Potter would say the same thing to Lupin, whose robes appear to be in the same rather pitiful conditions as Severus’s, if not worse. 

Today, Lupin limps into class late as usual, with Black beside him. Lupin looks dead on his feet: face so pale it’s nearly grey, dark circles hanging beneath his eyes, tension in his features. Severus watches as the Gryffindor sits down heavily at a desk, Black right beside him like his bloody boyfriend, doting on him as though he’s a child.

Severus genuinely hates the three of them. Potter, Black, Lupin. Even Pettigrew, that spineless excuse for a human. Can’t even think for himself. This year, Potter and Black have kept up their incessant snipes at Severus, but Lupin’s been ignoring him. Trying to be a bigger person, maybe. It’s not working. 

Severus knows that Lupin is a werewolf. 

The thing is, he doesn’t have any evidence. Once a month, Severus notices Remus get all pale faced and sickly, sees him miss lessons, and witnesses days where he’s not around at all. Always near the full moons. Upon checking a moon chart, Severus is once again rewarded with the information that January’s full moon takes place on the 17th, in three days’ time. 

It explains why Lupin is still on his feet, for Severus has seen him nearly retch during class multiple times, which is sickening enough to make Severus grateful that the full moon is on Saturday and he won’t have to bear witness to the Gryffindor holding back sick when it’s obvious he just wants to lose his lunch into a cauldron during Potions. 

Severus also knows that Lily’s got some awareness of Remus’s infection. She’s smart and has been friends with him for five years. But her words before holidays had been so sharp and convincing that Severus had dropped the topic right away, especially after she referred to werewolves as “half breeds”. Lily would never talk about her friends that way.

Unless she’s trying to protect them.

It becomes apparent that Severus’s only way to get a real and true answer to his question won’t be through asking Lupin (no, he’ll probably earn another punch to the face), nor asking Potter or Black (that’ll probably earn him a hex which will most definitely hurt worse than a punch). Gryffindors do these things straight up, they don’t dance about and find sneaky ways to find the answers to their questions.

Severus isn’t a Gryffindor, which is why he’s been practicing Legilimency all year long. It’s all been mostly indirect stuff on the other boys in his dorm- whispering “ _ Legilimens _ ” and focusing on Mulciber or Yaxley, trying to find an  _ in  _ inside their head, and sometimes being rewarded with flashes of mental images and thoughts. Most of it is about schoolwork, or girls, or what’s for dinner, but that’s because Severus hadn’t prompted them. 

He’d tried his hand at Lily during that conversation before winter holidays, and he had gotten farther than expected, but she’d shut him down. Unfortunate for her that he’s been practicing. 

Advanced Potions on Friday morning, just like usual. They’re both friendly, casual, scoring high marks on their Potion and leave for lunch with grins on their faces. Severus jokes with Lily, wants to keep her around through lunchtime, and it works. She asks him about the cat, he says he’s got no idea what she’s talking about but shoots her a grin which doubles as a confession. 

They take food from the Great Hall and eat at another random bench carved into a wall. Lily stretches her legs out in front of her on the bench, putting unintentional space between her and Severus, and starts eating her food with a look of quiet discontent on her face as some third year Ravenclaws bounce down the hallway, yammering loudly about general nonsense. 

Severus glances up at the two boys as they parade by. One of them points his wand at the other, saying “let me try!” in a way that makes Lily’s eyes widen. Severus is dutifully unsurprised at what comes next.

“Levicorpus!” One of the third years shouts. Severus feels a little flare of pride. He’d invented the spell, after all, and had used his on his roommates only for them to be inspired instead of angry. So, Levicorpus, as it stands, is currently all the rage at Hogwarts. It’s generally expected to have the curse flung at you haphazardly in the hallways between classes, or at the breakfast table, or in the bathroom. Wherever is suitable. The other Ravenclaw lifts a ways into the air, maybe a meter off the ground, and then falls back down as though he’s just tripped and fallen higher than usual.

“That’s five points from Ravenclaw!” Lily informs them, raising her eyebrows as both boys jump and spin around to glance at her with expressions of guilt on their faces.

“We were just testing it out!” The one who had been the victim of the spell explains. “Just learning!”

“Next time, don’t test it in front of a Prefect.” The two boys exchange dismayed, horrified looks, and then rush off without another word. Lily sighs. “Stupid kids.” 

“Enjoying Prefect life, are you?” Severus asks, trying to find a sly way to change the topic to something Lupin-related if only to get some sort of answer to this werewolf conundrum. Another sigh from Lily. She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear and Severus has to look away before he gets to thinking about how she’ll always be beautiful to him. 

“It’s fine, you know. Just another thing, but it makes you feel powerful. And also like a bit of a swot, but that’s just the stereotype.” 

“I dunno, it’s a good thing to be, I guess.” 

“Yeah… I’ve got patrol tonight with Mafalda Hopkirk, you know her, right? Sixth year? She’s a  _ proper  _ swot. I feel awful patrolling with her, all she does is shout at people.” Lily shudders. “I was supposed to be on with Remus, but he’s always swapping patrols. Mucking up the rota. Unreliable.” She shakes her head. Severus pounces on this opportunity. 

Her mind has momentarily flashed to Remus and his unreliability, so Severus whispers  _ legilimens  _ just under his breath, quiet enough for Lily not to hear, and thinks about her flashing eyes and what must be going on behind them. The feeling of mind reading is generally a difficult thing to describe. 

For Severus, it comes in flashes of pictures, words, and emotions. There’s bright red annoyance, there’s Remus’s scarred face, and then Mafalda Hopkirk’s, and then a full moon, and then Remus’s face again but paler, the colors under his eyes resembling those of a bruise. Then deep green worry, the full moon again, and indignation that flashes a yellow so sharp that Severus barely notices that Lily has thrown him out of her head full force.

“Stop it, stop it right now!” Lily stands up fast. Her face is very pale, and her dark red hair makes her freckled skin look even more washed out. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I’m done! Don’t  _ ever  _ think you can do that again.” 

“I don’t know what you-” Severus begins, not meaning for things to end up this way.

“You know exactly what I mean!” Lily’s voice has taken on a shrill tone, and Severus feels awful at the sight of tears in her eyes. “What- what the hell is  _ wrong  _ with you? I’m- I’m done.”

“Lily-”

“I’m done with you, Severus, I’ve been trying for long enough and this is it. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk  _ about  _ me, just forget about me, okay? Keep my name out of your mouth. And you know what?” Severus doesn’t reply, just stares shamefaced at her, not prepared for what’s coming next. “You can go fuck yourself.” 

**j**

“I’m going to woo her,” James explains placidly to a Sirius who evidently couldn’t care less. “Do you think I should create something out of lilies? A monument?”

“A shrine?” Remus asks slyly, although when James glances at him expecting humor, his friend’s face is worried and drawn as he frowns at a letter on the table in front of him. Remus can always be trusted to be both sad and unhelpful in almost any given situation. 

“I can’t give her a shrine dedicated to her. It’s  _ her _ birthday. Big sixteen!” 

“The big one’s next year.” Sirius has his feet up on the chair across from him and has been ever so casually painting his nails while James tries not to sneeze at the smell. 

All three of them are supposed to be doing homework, but Remus has resigned himself to compose a letter to his family, which seems to be taking up most of his energy. James had given up on Arithmancy almost as soon as he’d began, knowing he’s hopeless at it and should probably go find Marlene to help him, but instead he’s busied himself with planning out a way to win Lily over on her birthday, taking place in two days’ time, on Friday. 

“Maybe I should write a song for her?”

“You’re really no Freddie Mercury, James.” Remus is always a pessimist. James now remembers that Lily’s favorite band is Queen. 

“Well, your voice isn’t so bad,” Sirius offers as some means of positivity. “You’re both handsome men of the Indian persuasion who’ve obviously done well with women throughout their lives…” James digests this. Then:

“Wait, isn’t he queer?” Sirius just barks a laugh while Remus sighs dramatically. 

“Alright, Moony, what’s wrong with you? Who are you writing?” Sirius leans across the table and slides Remus’s letter towards him, but Remus quickly snatches it back.

“It’s to my mum, it’s awful but I hate writing her. What can I say? ‘Hope you’re enjoying your slow and painful death?’ Not bloody likely.”

“Do you want me to give it a crack?”

“I think I’d rather die than let you write a sympathy letter to my mother.”

“Now, now, don’t be so dramatic…” James sits back in his chair, understanding that his friends don’t give a toss about his romantic plans for later in the week. In retrospect, he probably should have sought out a little more advice, at least from Remus, but he’s a Gryffindor, and an Aries (Sirius sometimes attributes things that he does to his zodiac sign), and so he often acts thoughtlessly.

The first step is a Howler at breakfast. 

James ends up sitting further down the table from her. It seems that as they’ve grown older, they’ve also grown apart. He can’t keep his mouth shut and often realizes that every word he speaks to her makes things quite worse for himself, digging himself deeper into a hole of hatred, but it’s a lot like word vomit that he simply can’t stop when around her. 

And she’s Lily. Prefect, try-hard, all things good and kind and that a proper student should be. Who sits at the breakfast table on her sixteenth birthday and opens her morning mail with a smile on her face with her girlfriends surrounding her up until the Howler appears. Scorching red and shaking at the edges. 

Lily goes white. Marlene goes white. Mary just stares, and Dorcas adopts something akin to a murderous expression. Her dark eyes flicker over to the Slytherin table, and James wonders if she’s mentally attributing this ‘gift’ to Severus. 

“James…” Remus begins, staring in a well practiced dismayed way down the table… “Please don’t tell me-” He’s cut off by the Howler. James had cast a charm on himself to conceal his voice, so it sounds all watery and nasal, nothing like himself, but the words come from his heart and the color in Remus’s face quickly departs as the words ring out in a magnified way for the whole hall to hear.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY! I HOPE YOUR DAY IS AS WONDERFUL AS YOU ARE; OR AS WONDERFUL AS YOUR EYES, SO VIBRANT AND GREEN, OR YOUR RAVISHING RED LOCKS, OR AS SHARP AS YOUR WIT, OR AS BRILLIANT AS YOUR MIND-”

“Wrote this in a rush, did you?” Remus whispers in a low voice. 

“-IF ANYONE DESERVES A LIFETIME OF HAPPINESS, MY FIRST CONTENDER TO WIN IT WOULD BE YOU, MY DEAREST LILY, AND I HOPE YOU BELIEVE THAT FOR YOURSELF AS WELL-”

“Isn’t there any way to get it to shut up?” Mary asks. Lily looks like she’s sat through it for long enough, and with a face as red as her hair, she stands up and storms out of the hall with the Howler floating on behind her, still shouting praises and compliments that James admits he could have spent more time curating. 

Fridays are, in a way, often sad because James doesn’t share any classes with Lily. This leads him to direct his ‘gifts’ for her to mealtimes, which are oftentimes worse for her because the whole school is left to witness his misguided confessions of love.

At lunch, he does do something with lily petals. The opportunity had been too good to pass up. She arrives from her Advanced Potions class looking downright murderous, arms wrapped around a textbook as though for protection, and doesn’t even look up as lily flowers start raining down all over her. 

In fact, she treats the falling petals as though they’re normal rain. Ignores them, brushes them off, rolls her eyes, probably wishes she had an umbrella to pull out.

“That’s it?” Sirius asks, as though expecting more. “Lily flowers?”

“They’ve got compliments written on them.” James feels let down by this lack of a reaction. Lily has actually left the hall, the flowers tapering off as James can’t keep the spell going without her in his sights. “Blast. Dinner will have to do.” 

After a confusing and generally perplexing double period in Muggle Studies followed by an impromptu, freezing, Gryffindor Quidditch practice (Sirius is the only one to not attend), James hurries into the hall for dinner. Still snow stained, face still numb from outside, he sits himself down by Remus, with Marlene joining him. 

“Izzy’s gone mad with these winter practices, we don’t even have a house match until March!” Marlene’s face is bright red from the chill, and she wiggles her fingers to bring life back into them. 

“Got to stay sharp!” James has high hopes of being made Quidditch captain in the future and therefore attends every practice with very high energy and morale, no matter the weather. “Have you seen Evans?” Marlene casts him a dark look.

“She’s probably busy trying to celebrate her birthday in peace… no thanks to you, you know.” 

“Didn’t ask for thanks. Oh, look! Here she comes! Get ready for stage three…” Remus groans ineffectually and James sits up straighter. Lily has walked in with Dorcas and Benjy, of all people, and to James’s dismay, the three of them seat themselves at the Ravenclaw table, on the other end of the hall from Gryffindor. Marlene snorts. 

“Avoidance. Works well, doesn’t it?”

“It’s no problem.” James sits up a little straighter. Benjy’s mohawk is a hard thing to miss, and once James finds the spiked monstrosity (only wilting slightly after a long day), he can catch Lily sitting next to him. Sitting is a strong word for it, she’s instead slouched over the table as though to avoid someone. Elbows on the table, chin in her hands, but she’s laughing so that’s alright. 

James whispers the proper incantations and takes pride in noticing that despite their protests, Remus and Marlene do look interested in what he has to offer this time. And a great big singing birthday cake does not let them down. 

Remus covers his face with his hands out of secondhand embarrassment. The cake that James levitates in is decorated with sixteen bright birthday candles ( _ none  _ of which are set to explode, since Lily isn’t Sirius and doesn’t seem to enjoy pyrotechnics) that hop around the cake at their own leisure. And the magnified voice is loud enough for the whole hall to hear, just like the Howler had been.

“ _ HAAAPPYYY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOUUUU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOUUUU! HAPPY BIRTHDAAYYYY DEAR LIILLLYYYYYY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU!!!”  _ Benjy and Dorcas are the first to start clapping, looking pleased enough to make James proud, but Lily…. has disappeared. 

“Where’s she gone?” James asks, properly standing up now, not even noticing the smattering of applause delivered from other students. 

“Come back down, you’re pathetic.” Marlene grabs the back of his Quidditch robes and pulls him back to the bench hard. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s hiding.” 

“That was not my desired intent.” Marlene rolls her eyes. 

“Honestly, James, what was?”

A good question out of any. Maybe James had been expecting some brilliant confession of love from her, or a ‘thank you’, maybe not for the Howler but for the aesthetics of the lily petals and the fact that he got a nice cake for her. Said cake is being eaten by Ravenclaws and Dorcas Meadowes.  _ Blast _ . 

The last James sees of Lily that day is in the common room that evening. Remus had been on patrol, and Peter had sat down with James to spend some quality time on the Marauder’s Map. They’re putting finishing touches on the west wing of the school, but are still thinking about a way to get a tracking charm on the map, which no one has yet figured out.

Portrait hole opens and James glances up only to see Lily appear. She fixes him with a look immediately, and his heart starts pounding in his chest when she approaches him.

“Potter,” she begins in a voice of tearful, exhausted menace. “Could you just stop?”

“What?” Lily doesn’t even seem in a shouting mood. Just burnt out and tired. 

“Could you please just leave me alone, for once? I’m not interested. I’ve got more to deal with today than  _ you _ .” She refers to him like some sort of pest. “I can’t handle this right now.” Not  _ now,  _ okay, but maybe in the future…? “Please, for the love of god,  _ please,  _ just leave me alone. Okay?”

“Evans, I’m sorry-”

“No you’re not.” Said plainly and almost truthfully. Her green eyes are fed up. “You’re never sorry. Don’t lie about it. Just stop. For god’s sakes.” Then she leaves. The one conversation they’ve had all day long, and James is left feeling reasonably guilty and rather ashamed of himself. He’s just incapable of doing anything right when it comes to love. It’s really not fair at all. 


	69. [YR 5] In Love & Wide Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one of my fave chapters :^)
> 
> here's a shameless self promo for my new fic which can be found right [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499025/chapters/64580566)! it's a canon divergent wolfstar abt remus going to live with a very free sirius after harry's 3rd year and life is just much better than jk rowling could have ever dreamed. pls enjoy!

_ we’re standing hand and hand losing our cursed minds _

_ we dance around the pain as the world breezes by _

_ i feel it all, all over _

**r**

“Remus, is James serious?” Prefect patrol, out by the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, and Lily has made the unfortunate decision to discuss James’s feelings for her with one of his best mates. Remus is nothing but unprepared for this conversation. “Like, with all that crap he did on my birthday. And asking me out every week. Is he serious about it?” 

Lily doesn’t look at him as she asks these questions, and even in the dark light of Hogwarts at night, Remus can be sure she’s blushing. 

“Yes,” he tells her truthfully. “Of course. You think he’d go through all that effort just to play a joke on you?” Lily shrugs.

“I never know if he’s joking or not.” Ah, that’s a good point. After spending five years getting to know him as a best friend, Remus has easily worked out James’s humor and his somewhat shameful indifference to whether others understand it either. 

“Well, it’s complicated.” This is true. “He really does like you, Lily, but he doesn’t know how to show it properly. He’s got trouble expressing himself, like… seriously. He’s got to do it through a joke.”

“Just like Black,” Lily grumbles. Remus thinks about this comparison for a moment, and realizes that she’s exactly correct. Both James and Sirius would rather laugh about something than listen with genuine concern, which is why Remus is sure that he knows all of Sirius’s dark secrets while James has been left out when it comes to them. Sirius would confess to James that his parents abuse him and James would burst into a fit of laughter for no good reason.

Strange, strange dynamics.

“Just like.” Remus agrees. “If I were you and I ever reciprocated his feelings, not that you  _ do _ !” He cuts himself off quickly at the disgust on Lily’s face, “But if I- if  _ you-  _ if anyone ever did, it would be bad form to ever say yes to him until he gets his ego in check.” 

“Have you ever told him that?” Remus lowers his gaze, glancing down the length of the dark hallway, suddenly feeling put on the spot and chilled. “Honestly, it seems like you can give him proper criticism behind his back, but to his face, you’ve got nothing to tell him.” Remus sighs. 

“I just feel like it’s not my place…”

“Not your  _ place _ ?” Lily’s face is incredulous. Remus thinks they should end patrol early for the night. “Of all people, he’ll listen to you or Black or even Pettigrew if you’ve got something to say. You’ve never told him to just leave me alone? Get a grip on himself?”

“It’s not that simple,” Remus protests. “I owe him. I owe him a lot.” 

“Just because he knows about your condition, doesn’t mean you’re entitled to defend every action he’s ever done-”

“It’s not  _ that,  _ Lily, it’s not about him knowing that.” It’s about James becoming an Animagus for him. It’s about the fact that James owns that pocket knife that Sion had given Remus all those years ago, or that James had held him while he cried in third year after trying to kill himself and never told anyone about it, and never treated him differently, and always supported him in this quiet but kind way that Remus is so, so grateful for. 

It’s about all these things that Remus can’t tell her. 

“He’s a really good person, he is, honest. He’s done a lot to help me, him and Sirius both, and they can be so kind in private but they act like idiots for everyone else to see. They don’t want to be thought of as gentle and nice.”

“But aren’t you?”  _ Gentle and nice?  _ Last year, Lily had been calling him scary. People had avoided talking to him for his temper, and now he’s referred to as gentle and nice? Is this the way that being a Prefect has changed him? Remus considers resignation. 

“I dunno, Lily, personalities are all very complex.” 

“Right yeah,” she jumps down his line attempting to end the conversation. “Sorry, you know, I just always wonder.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine, I understand.” Mostly, Remus does not understand. Girls are very complex creatures, something he’d had the unfortunate experience of learning during his three and a half(ish) years dating Marlene. They’d still technically been dating during the winter of fourth year, but they were so constantly angry with each other that it didn’t feel anything like dating at all.

Lily is leading them back up to Gryffindor tower, which Remus is grateful for since he’s got to finish his Transfiguration essay about the spatial reasoning related to conjuring inanimate objects. It’s nothing easy to understand, and James has already finished his, but Remus hates copying and has resigned himself to a fate of staying up late.

Through the portrait hole, into the common room, and Lily turns to him with a faint smile on her face.

“So, er, are you still doing the tutoring stuff?”

“Yeah, most Thursday nights.” Lily nods.

“If you ever want, me and some other fifth years are having O.W.L studying sessions, if you’d like to join. We have a room in the library, and there’s usually at least one person there every night. We start at seven thirty.” 

“Oh, cool! Sure, I’ll definitely come.”

“Great!” Lily beams at him. Not for the first time, Remus understands why James is so smitten with her. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight!” Back in the dorms, Remus bears witness to a scene that is becoming more and more familiar as well as unsettling. Everyone is studying. Everyone but Sirius, yet still, it’s rare to find more than two out of four of the marauders studying at once.

James and Sirius both look like they’ve been out flying: James has a fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders and is sipping a cup of tea while waving his wand to turn pages in his book, and Sirius is bundled up in his bed, hair still wet, reading one of Remus’s issues of Melody Maker. Peter is splayed out on his bed, evidently trying to make sense of some homework that Remus is not keen on helping him with.

With no music playing and no one talking, Remus is even further surprised when no one greets him. Fifth year is a strange thing. Remus sits down and begins working without further thought, occasionally asking James for some guidance on the essay, but the four of them remain quiet and concentrated for the rest of the night.

Remus has trouble falling asleep. It’s probably because Sirius isn’t in bed next to him. After Sirius’s birthday, Remus had been trying his very hardest to keep the other boy at arms’ length if only to not wind up with a problem in his pants while Sirius lies in bed next to him. For most of November, even  _ seeing  _ Sirius had been an issue for Remus, and so he’d thoughtlessly pushed him away because it seemed like the only proper solution.

Remus can look at him now without losing his mind, but sleeping next to him would take things one (or maybe a hundred) steps too far, so Remus leaves it alone. There’s more to worry about these days than Sirius. There’s O.W.L.s, of course, the big bad examinations that no fifth year can keep off of their minds. And then there’s the case of his dying mum.

At breakfast the next morning, Remus receives a letter from his dad. These letters are becoming more frequent, but Remus dreads them every time. This one is just like the others. The words are different but the meaning is the same, yet the warnings appear to become more dire every few days.

_ Dear Remus, _

_ How are your classes going? If you’re still practicing dueling in Defense, I would recommend that you try out the stunning spell, if your professor hasn’t started on it yet. Work has been surprisingly busy, as a fair number of poltergeists have been terrorizing a castle that muggles use for tourism. Not totally my department, but it’s interesting to have some hands-on work. _

_ Your mum would love it if you wrote her a letter, so she could hear something about what you’re up to. It doesn’t have to be interesting, just anything from you would cheer her up. I’m sorry to say that she seems to be getting worse and worse. Not sure how long she has left. It might be best for you to talk with your Head of House and let them know that you might be needing to return home at any moments’ notice. I’m sorry, Remus. _

_ Please write us back, if only to give your mum something to keep you close to her. _

_ Love,  _

_ Dad _

Strangled sort of tension in his throat, the type that means tears will be arriving shortly, and Remus stuffs the letter into his bag. No one has noticed his depressing mail of the day, for which he is grateful, but he finds there to be little point in sticking around at the breakfast table if all he’s going to do is feel nauseous and hold back tears. 

The walk to Professor McGonagall’s office is long and painful enough (thanks to his blasted leg) that his mind is generally clear by the time he arrives. Remus remembers that the professor doesn’t teach any morning classes, and is grateful for that fact when he knocks on her door. No waiting around, just the prompt “come in!” that always throws Remus headfirst into a conversation before he can think of what to say.

McGonagall glares down her nose at him, sharp green eyes betraying none of her emotions. 

“Good morning, professor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lupin, how may I help you today?” Remus does his usual nervous dance of shifting back and forth. Not knowing if he should sit down, or come closer, or maybe just turn around and leave her office right here and now. Why is he here again?

“Erm.” A strong beginning. The most famous speeches in the world have all been started with an “erm”, you know: Winston Churchill, William Wilberforce, Albus Dumbledore, the legends! “Erm, it’s just, my mum is really ill.” Remus toes the door shut behind him but remains standing in the doorway. “She’s had cancer, you know, it’s this muggle illness-”

“I know what it is.” McGonagall interrupts but it’s not in a rude way, just in that short and sharp way of hers. “Lupin, why don’t you have a seat?” Taking a seat, as it happens, twists his leg. Winces, watches McGonagall’s eyes soften in the way he hates. A tin of biscuits in front of him, an offer for him to have one. Remus has no appetite but knows it would be rude to deny, so he takes a biscuit and nibbles on it halfheartedly. 

“My mum’s dying, essentially, and it’s getting worse and worse and she’s probably going to die soon.” Hurts more than he could imagine to get the words out of his mouth. “And I’ll need to go home, you know, to, er… see her off.” McGonagall looks even more concerned now, as though she’s worried about the way that he says ‘see her off’ as though she’s going on holiday instead of to the great unknown. 

“Do you know when you have to leave?” Remus shrugs.

“My dad said at any moments’ notice. It’ll…” Remus cuts off, sickening realization dawning over him as the words find their way out of his mouth, “it’ll probably be this week, or next week. But I just thought I’d let you know. And I don’t know how I’ll get home, either.”

“You can apparate from Hogsmeade-” McGonagall cuts herself off. Remus watches the witch take a deep breath, adjust her glasses, and seem to regard Remus with new eyes. “I’m sorry, Remus, I always forget how young you are.” Remus’s quiet “s’alright” goes unnoticed by her as she continues. “And I’m genuinely sorry about your mother as well.” McGonagall looks oddly emotional. Remus hates that he’s the reason why. 

“That’s okay.”

“You can use the floo in the Three Broomsticks’, if that suits you?”

“That’s fine.” McGonagall nods. Then sighs, then gives him this pitiful look that makes Remus feel like some sickly, dying child. 

“If, well,  _ when _ you get the message, you don’t have to find me, you can just go straight to Hogsmeade. Just tell one of your friends to let me know, okay?” Remus nods. It feels surreal that he’s planning out the events that will take place on occasion of his mum dying with his Transfiguration teacher. 

The fact that Hope is dying at all feels a bit unhinged to him, like it’s some sort of nightmare worked up by the devil: bitten by a werewolf aged five, suicide attempt at twelve, mum turned into an alcoholic sometime around then, then cancer the year after, then imminent death the year after that. Remus knows that his life is unbelievably, awfully tragic and is quick to escape McGonagall’s office before she goes and does something like start sobbing and force feeding him biscuits.

Biscuits won’t make him feel better. Neither will dwelling, and neither will spending all day trying to distract himself with  _ schoolwork,  _ of all things. Since when has schoolwork provided a reasonable distraction from the overwhelming gravity of death? Especially to a fifteen year old?

Dancing, it turns out, is not only a solution, but winds up being  _ the  _ solution.

The girls’ dorms and Marlene’s spinning her new John Lennon record because it’s her  _ favorite,  _ apparently, and Remus doesn’t support it as much as she does but Lennon’s put down some very catchy tunes so Remus lets Marlene spin him around the dorm room, laughing and grinning with her blonde hair whipping around, catching the fairy lights that Lily had strung up first year to make it more homely.

Mary’s half watching them over her Arithmancy textbook. Moira’s there as well, vaguely nodding her head to the music when she thinks they aren’t looking or haven’t noticed. ‘Stand By Me’ isn’t the best song to swing dance to (Remus’s parents would be ashamed), but he slowly teaches Marlene basic steps that he’s seen his parents demonstrate in the living room throughout childhood and now hasn’t seen for years. 

Marlene picks up quickly. She moves her feet deftly, left when Remus goes right, back when Remus steps forwards. They start slow, spending three and a half minutes listening to a song about love while dancing. Only three songs into the record and Remus immediately knows that ‘Rip It Up / Ready Teddy’ is his favorite. 

Fast, loud, fun, he picks up the steps as Marlene steps back, then forth, starts jumping more than stepping, dancing and swinging the blonde haired girl back and forth as she laughs out loud, as beautiful as she’s ever been.

Marlene mouths the words for she’s listened to this album a million times over since she’d gotten it for Christmas, and Remus thinks that she’s something else, out of this world and especially the way she sings “I’ve got a girl that I love so” out loud, not caring if frown lines appear in Moira’s brow because she sings it like it’s true (and it is) and dances with her ex-boyfriend, but still best friend, because oh, god, why not?

Remus thinks that even if his mum’s dying and the world seems to be falling apart, everything is pieced together perfectly fine tonight. If he’s got a friend to dance with and a record to play, then things will stay more or less okay. Tonight, more than less.

**s**

Sirius Black isn’t  _ lazy,  _ per se, but sometimes he gives up on things because he moves on to be interested in something else. He’d never expected to give up on Quidditch (though give up is a strong term for it,) yet it’s the same way that he’d never expected to become something akin to best mates with Mary MacDonald. 

Scottish winter weather is cold, Quidditch practices aren’t mandatory until February, and Sirius wants to get his eyeliner done and gossip with the girls while it’s warm and he can be someone else for a while. Sirius is supposed to be out on the Quidditch pitch in all sorts of weather, and supposed to be plotting a prank to pull, and supposed to be very cool and very handsome and altogether the picture of masculine perfection.

Not that he doesn’t consider himself cool, or handsome, or perfect (though wouldn’t admit it if asked). Sirius just isn’t the same person as James. He’s not a bloody  _ jock.  _ He likes getting his makeup done (not that James would know,) and enjoys putting on ridiculous fashion shows with Mary’s friends (also, not that James would know,) and more than anything gets a laugh out of pretending to be someone else: a movie star, or David Bowie, or some small town boy from the Cotswolds looking for his big break. 

Sirius does things that he doesn’t think twice about. Hangs out in the Slytherin girls dormitory with Katherine and Olivia and thinks he enjoys their company until one night, in the Gryffindor common room, Mary appears all of a sudden. In a big rush, as she always seems to be, and making a production of some new information.

“Katherine Inkwood fancies you.”

“You’re having me on.” Sirius tells her plainly. Katherine Inkwood? Prefect? With the closed off face and tight lips, like she’s hiding a million little secrets away behind her sly, sparkling eyes? 

“Nope.” Mary drops onto the couch close to him, and leans into him in a familiar, platonic way that Sirius is grateful for. “You totally get along with her, why don’t you ask her out?”

“Ask who out?” Lily has wandered over and Sirius feels himself go red without meaning to. He’s spent the last five years desperately either avoiding romantic relationships or lighting the ones he’s been in on fire just for good measure. Sirius Black and dating girls never seems to work out well. Mucking about with Benjy Fenwick was casual and fun, so Sirius stuck with that until it’s ended. Now he’s all eyes for Remus, and Katherine Inkwood signifies nothing more than a friend of a friend to him.

“Katherine Inkwood, from Slytherin,” Mary explains as Lily takes a seat in the chair across from them. She raises her eyebrows at Sirius, who once again finds himself at a loss for words. 

“Is she into you?” Lily asks Sirius.

“Yes, she told me all about it.” Mary responds for him. “Sirius, you’ve been  _ so  _ lonely, I honestly think you should ask her to Hogsmeade, or something.” 

“You’ve never had a proper girlfriend, have you?” Lily asks thoughtfully, propping her chin up on her hand. “And Katherine’s nice, we do patrol together sometime. Where’s the harm?”

“The harm is that I’m not interested.” Sirius shoots back, rather defensively.

“Ha!” Mary glances at Lily with a knowing look that Sirius can’t read. “That didn’t stop you from taking Emmeline to the ball last year! Or, for that matter, trying to date  _ me  _ back in second year.” Sirius is blushing without restraint and wishes, not for the first time, that he had James’s dark complexion so his flush wouldn’t show up bright red on his pale face. 

“Look at you!” Lily continues in a way most unlike her. Maybe embarrassing Sirius Black is an opportunity just too good to pass up. “You’re bright red! You’re totally interested!” Fed up with this line of conversation, Sirius lets something slip that in retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have.

“For your information, I’m interested in somebody  _ else _ .” The levee breaks.

“Who?!” Gasps Mary, grabbing onto his arm with a force much too strong. Lily’s green eyes are wide and demanding, obviously hanging on to the frank realization that Sirius might  _ finally  _ be interested in someone that he can have a proper relationship with.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, give us a little more,” Lily chides, sly half smile creeping up her freckled face. “You’ve never expressed interest in anyone.”

“ _ Ever _ .” Mary adds. 

“Ever!” Sirius is quickly growing tired of the two of them. This is what he gets for spending the last few months hanging out with girls because Remus is icing him out and James is too busy worrying about the upcoming Quidditch season, all because Benjy’s actually whipped the Ravenclaw team into shape and Hufflepuff is looking as menacing as ever. 

“I’m not discussing this with you.” Sirius looks from Lily to Mary. Both of them have wide eyed, pleading expressions on their faces, which don’t suit Sirius well. He hates when people beg. 

“At least give us a house.” Mary offers. “Gryffindor? Slytherin? Ravenclaw?”

“You can name all four, you know, and that won’t bring you any closer!”

“Maybe then,” Lily suggests, “a hair color?” 

“Excellent!” Mary responds. “What’s her hair color?”

“Brown.” Sirius tells them flatly. The girls hang onto this piece of information like a dog that’s been given a small, tiny piece of sausage and will remember that taste for the rest of his life. He’d never known that  _ brown hair  _ could be a topic so fit for discussion, but Mary and Lily prove him wrong, while Sirius sits and thinks that at the end of the day, Remus’s hair is more of a light brown, with golden highlights, and sometimes when he sits in the sun the whole of him looks like he’s been washed out in gold. 

Somewhat angelic, like his hair is a halo and Sirius can feel his face turning red as he considers the nuance of Remus’s hair. There’s also something suspicious about the way Mary is eyeing him. Slant to her eyebrows, twist to her lips, as though she’s figuring confusing maths in her head. Sirius looks at her, she looks at him, and then the expression clears. Whatever she had been thinking about, she doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day.

The mystery girl (or boy, though not that either of them know) in question has procured a colossal amount of weed as of recent. When Remus invites Sirius to smoke some of this weed with him, Sirius feels as though he’s done something to be proud of, for him and Remus haven’t spent much time together in the past few months and Sirius has been having daydreams of the things they would do when finally back to hanging out.

Smoking multiple zoots then sitting on the moving staircases all afternoon hadn’t been an option among his collection of daydreams. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

Remus has the Marauder’s Map splayed out over his knees, and a muggle pen in his hand that Sirius knows he shouldn’t be using on their map. Sirius thinks of telling him this, but finds that if he tried to speak, the words would most definitely come out jumbled and blurred, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Both of them are sitting on one of the bigger staircases: Sirius leaning against the banister so he doesn’t fall over, Remus bent over the map.

“Look at this!” Remus exclaims as the staircase starts moving. “Boom! Woosh! Amazing!” Sirius has trouble sitting up straight, so Remus grabs his robes and pulls him forward which is close contact that gets Sirius’s skin searing with attraction. Remus points at the map, and through hazy eyes, Sirius sees a staircase drawn on the map move. The staircase that they’re sitting on.

“Wowww, that’s so cool! Oh my god!” Sirius’s exclamations have two seventh year Ravenclaw girls scoffing at them. Sirius hadn’t even noticed that they’re trapped on a moving staircase with two older Ravenclaws. 

“Alright, here’s the dock, look out, here we come for landing…!” Remus begins as the staircase moves to the west wing, up by the Ravenclaw common room. “Five, four, three, two… two and a half..!” Sirius descends into giggles as Remus continues his abridged countdown. “One, one and three quarters, one and a half, one, and BOOM! Zero! Touchdown!” The staircase locks in with the hallway, and both Sirius and Remus burst out laughing while the older Ravenclaws mutter something about Gryffindors being brainless. 

The pair of them spend around an hour sitting on the staircases as they move, sometimes getting up to go sit on another one, but oftentimes crashing down onto the steps of one staircase and seeing where it takes them. This hour is filled with laughter, and conversations about confusing topics that Sirius can hardly keep up with. Remus talks a lot when inebriated. Sirius finds that out of all the words in his head, he finds it difficult to pick any and throw them out for anyone to hear.

Dorcas Meadowes stumbles across them on her way to dinner. Sirius has told a joke but missed the punchline because he’d gotten confused, and the pair of them had been in tears with laughter when they’d heard her voice, asking what they were doing, cancelling that question with an ‘I don’t even want to know,’ and then inviting them to join her at dinner.

“ _ Dinner _ !” Remus exclaims, suddenly bright eyed. Dorcas offers him a hand up and Remus takes it; Sirius takes her other hand and now the two have become three. “I’m so hungry.”

Sirius remembers eating about ten cupcakes after Remus got him high on his birthday, and thinks that dinner is going to be wonderful.

“Are you cooking, Dorcas?” Remus asks as they set off towards the hall. “What’s on the menu tonight?” Sirius giggles. Dorcas doesn’t get all suspicious like Mary and Lily, just takes a sweeping glance and understands the current situation.

“You’ve cooked for us, Dorcas?” Sirius is in between the two of them, and decides to link their arms together. Remus and Dorcas laugh. The situation is too funny, the January halls look brighter than usual even though it’s nighttime, and Sirius feels very happy.

“Of course I haven’t cooked, you stupid stoners!”

“Would you cook for us sometime, Dorcas?” Sirius continues. “Something Greek? Something delicious?” Remus interrupts.

“Do you know what I want, tonight?”

“What?” Sirius asks.

“A big, yummy, juicy, bloody steak. I want it to  _ drip _ .”

“You’re disgusting.” Dorcas informs him.

“You want it to be bleeding? You want it raw?” Sirius assumes that this is something to do with Remus being a werewolf. He thinks about asking him if the raw steak issue is yet another symptom, then remembers that Dorcas doesn’t even know he’s a werewolf. It’s such a casual fact at this point that Sirius debates telling her, and then further understands that it’s a bad idea.

“I want it a tiny bit cooked,” Remus explains, “but raw enough to, like, explode, once you eat it. I’ve never had a proper steak before. They’re too expensive.”

“I’ll take you to a steakhouse, Moony, sometime. We can have a raw steak date.”

“And then get ill after,” Dorcas says rather sensibly. But Remus has looked over at Sirius with this half smile on his face, something thoughtful and warm in his expression. It’s then and there that Sirius decides. 

_ I have to tell him,  _ because of the way his amber eyes twinkle with warmth,  _ I have to tell him,  _ because of the way the scars on his face stretch when he laughs properly, a good laugh that brings tears to his eyes and makes Sirius want to tell jokes forever and ever if only to keep him smiling.  _ I have to tell him, because I’m in love with him.  _

They enter the Great Hall, and the moment is lost. 


	70. [YR 5] Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can write 3 chapters of relative fun & happiness but 3 is apparently my max. welcome back to the angst. cw for death, grief, and self harm

_ i hold your hand for hours, even when i know it’s done _

_ i hope you felt me there _

_ i hope you felt your son _

**r**

When Remus wakes up on that cold, fateful morning in late January, James is almost immediately pulling back the curtains of his bed, like he instinctively knows that Remus is awake and presents the letter to him right away. 

“The owl came to our window about twenty minutes ago.” James explains as Remus takes the letter from his hands, already frowning. “It wouldn’t stop tapping the glass, I thought it might break it. Must be important!” he chuckles nervously. Remus opens the note, scrawled hastily in his dad’s handwriting:

_ She’s gotten worse overnight. Might be best for you to come back home now. Not sure if there’s long left. Love you. _

Remus swallows hard and glances up at James, who’s busy shifting nervously from foot to foot. He stops moving once under Remus’s serious gaze, and instead glances expectantly at the letter, then back up to Remus.

“I’ve, er.” Remus begins. “I’ve got to go.” He frowns at James, not really knowing what to do. “I’ve got to go,” he repeats, wringing his hands while getting out of bed, moving over to his already-packed trunk to find some clothes to put on (not his school robes) because this was always going to happen, this was always coming, and now it’s here and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Go where?” James asks as Remus packs up his bag, hastily tossing books into his rucksack. “Moony, mate, what’s up?” He hesitates as Remus ignores him, pulling on his right shoe while tugging a jumper over his pyjama shirt. “Is it your mum?”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he’s being gruff and short with him, but this isn’t something he wants to discuss. James doesn’t say anything as he ties his shoes and gathers up his bags, making for the door.

“Remus, hey.” James rushes after him. It always seems that Remus is caught in these dramatic events with James, of all people. Never Peter or Sirius. Sometimes, rarely, Lily. But James most of all. Suicide attempts, long discussions of self harm, his mum on her deathbed.

James always seems the one who knows most what to do in these situations, solid and strong, and Remus wishes that he could bring James with him to his tiny, cluttered house in Wales if only he could try saving his mum’s life with his boundless enthusiasm and hope. 

“I’m sorry, mate.” There’s nothing else he can say. And his words are barely a small comfort.

“Cheers.” Remus tells him emotionlessly. Pauses, looks at James with those wide eyes, the serious face that’s never fit him. He always looks better smiling. “Can you find McGonagall and tell her I’ve left?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks.” Remus’s lips are pressed tight together and he thinks maybe he’s holding back tears, or maybe just trying to wipe his face of any emotions. James is still worried. Remus leaves. 

Remus starts crying on the walk to Hogsmeade. He hadn’t expected it at all. He’d just been limping along, teeth gritted against the sharp pain in his leg, wondering if he’d ever speak to his mother again, and then the tears had come out of nowhere. No one around to see or hear. Remus had broken down. Sobbing while walking. Hot tears and deep shuddering breaths marking his trek through the snow down to the village. He’d wiped the snot from his face and hoped he didn’t look too red eyed when arriving in the Three Broomsticks. 

No one speaks to him. It’s early in the morning, and Madam Rosmerta is opening the pub for the day, obviously not in the mood to entertain some fifth year who definitely shouldn’t be getting a drink on before the sun properly rises. No ‘good morning’, no nothing. Remus steps into the fireplace, takes a breath for courage, and flashes through time and space to arrive in Wales.

Remus’s least favorite thing about the floo network is the lack of time to prepare. On foot, he can stand outside of a house and breathe in and out, working down his panic, playing out a situation in his mind. With floo, he ends up standing in someone’s fireplace like a deer caught in the headlights, forced headlong into whatever situation is playing out.

Luke is the only person there when Remus arrives.

The dog blinks at him in momentary shock, wondering how Remus appeared when he’d not been there a second ago, but then decides he doesn’t care. An attack of love: barking, jumping, licking, tail wagging. Remus pets Luke, tells him he’s the best boy in the entire world, but he’s got to go upstairs, if Luke would like to join. Luke decides he will. The two of them don’t waste any time heading upstairs (Remus moving faster than he has in a long time), and he doesn’t stop to breathe or think or do anything but open the door to his parents’ bedroom.

Hope is asleep when he gets there. Not dead yet, but she’ll never wake up again. Remus doesn’t remember the last conversation he had with her. Saying goodbye after Christmas holidays, not knowing that it was goodbye forever.

“Remus.”

“Dad.” They hug and it’s a thoughtless, necessary kind of affection. Remus can’t remember the last time he’s hugged his dad, but Lyall holds him tight without any hesitation, and Remus feels reduced to a child falling to pieces in his father’s arms.

Lyall, for his part, seems to be holding it together in a way where he can sit silently and solemn faced next to Remus for a few hours as Hope’s breathing gets slower and slower, coming in shallow shudders, until at last, she stops. 

Hope Heledd once Howell, now Lupin, dies on Wednesday, January 28th, 1976, at 3:34 in the afternoon. Remus sits and holds her hand for hours, feeling it eventually grow cold as the blood stops circulating and the life in her ebbs away. Lyall sits on her other side. Luke at the foot of the bed. None of them speak to each other. 

Remus only moves once the sun sets, and it’s to turn on a lamp. Once the room is flooded with warm light, he realizes that he’s been sitting next to his mum’s corpse all day long, and the thought makes him so ill that he leaves. He doesn’t want to see her again. She’s not his mum anymore. She’s dead. Just a body.

Her spirit, her soul, her life and personality and the sparkle in her eyes is gone. Her Welsh accent, her dirty blonde hair, her talent for cooking, and swing dancing, and teaching, and her jokes and her humor and everything about her is gone and it’ll never return. Remus doesn’t know what to do, or how to feel, or anything at all. He’s completely lost. 

The fields around Mold are dark and wet in the nighttime. There’s no sound save for Luke’s claws pattering on the pavement and the occasional bark as he turns around to see if Remus is still walking with him. Remus hasn’t put a lead on him. Remus doesn’t think he’d care about anything regarding laws right now. The situation he’s found himself in is quite existential. He’d steal a car, or mug someone, or jump off a building.

He’d do anything he wants. What’s the consequences for breaking the law? A fine? Prison? Humans and werewolves and wizards alike walk this earth briefly, for a stretch of time, and then they’re gone and that’s the end. Remus hopes he’ll remember his mum for the rest of his life. She’s gone, now, fallen out and she’ll never be treated with the same memory but he’ll try his best to visit her grave as often as possible. Leave flowers for her. 

Remus lights up a fag and watches the end of it glow orange. He blows smoke into the dark blue night. Rain has started by the time he comes back home, and as he creeps upstairs, he can hear his dad sobbing in the bedroom. The rest of the house is dark. Remus considers just going to bed, and shuts the door to his bedroom, but he can still hear his dad crying down the hall and thinks  _ My dad is sitting in there crying over my mum’s dead body and this is not an acceptable way to spend the night,  _ so he creeps back downstairs to find a solution.

The only person he can think to help is his Aunt Selwyn. She’s his dad’s younger sister, lives down in Swansea, and is usually avoided by Lyall’s personal branch of the Lupin family because she’s very touchy-feely and quite  _ loud,  _ most of all. 

“Hallo, Lyall, what’s all this? Nearly twelve at night, didn’t you learn never to call after nine?”

“It’s Remus.” Remus mumbles down the line, hoping his dad won’t hear. “Did dad tell you? My mum’s died.” Selwyn is very quiet for a moment. There are very rare instances where she can manage a few moments of silence, and Remus relishes this one.

“Oh, no, Remus, love, I’m so sorry! I’m  _ so  _ sorry! When did she pass?”

“Earlier today… my dad’s not taking it well, and I don’t really know what to do…”

“Ah, okay, oh, Remus, christ, ah, give me a mo’…  _ Go to bed, I said go twenty minutes ago! _ ” Remus can hear his aunt shouting at someone in the background, presumably one of his younger cousins. Her voice returns to the phone louder than ever, and Remus holds the phone a bit away from him to lessen the volume.

“I can be there first thing tomorrow, is that okay?” Remus bites his lip and tates blood. Oh, god. He wants to cut. He really, really wants to hurt himself and cradles the phone, feeling a hot rush of desperate tears build up in his throat. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, it’s just, well, it’s just… her  _ body,  _ you know. I don’t want her to….” To rot? Go bad? Decompose? “I mean…” He’s about to start crying, he really is, and gives a mighty sniff.

“Remus, you’ve got to get ice on her, okay? Is she in bed?”

“Mhm.”

“Ice, and fans, and just keep her cool, if you can. Use some of your fancy magic, eh? It’s too late to call a funeral parlor, now. Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there by seven, or eight at the latest, okay? Alright? Her body will be okay just for the night. Leave the windows open in her room.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, and I can help take care of the arrangements, so be strong, love, it’s going to be okay. It’ll all be okay. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“I’ll see you, love.” 

Remus takes a kitchen knife to his wrists soon after the phone call ends. He makes some noise of pain, a hissed “ah!” as he breaks the skin. The kitchen knife is much sharper than the blade of Sion’s old pocket knife. “Ah, ah, ah, oh,  _ fuck _ !” Remus looks at the wound slashed into his wrist, already bubbling up dark red blood. “Fuck…” All it takes is to close his eyes and focus on the pain.

A few more cuts, these ones shallower than the first, and it’s almost relieving enough that Remus can forget about his mum being dead. He goes to bed, curls up along among the cold blankets, and cries himself to sleep. 

A feeling of numb disbelief presses down upon him for the days following: he sits stoically, puts on an oversized dark suit lent to him by an uncle, stands with his jaw clenched at the funeral. Locks himself in his room for hours, smokes enough fags to give him lung cancer to kill him just like those diseased cells killed her, cries, lets the letters pile up on his windowsill, finally brings them in when it starts to rain.

_ Moony, I hope everything’s okay with your mum. Please write, let me know what’s up.  _

_ James _

_ Remus, James told me that you had to go home because your mum’s doing worse. I hope she’s okay, and I hope you’re okay. Please write us back. Love you. _

_ Marlene _

_ Dear Remus, _

_ I’m sorry to hear that your mum’s gotten worse, and I hope she’s doing alright. Please write back, as we’re all worried and want to know that you’re doing okay. We all care about you and miss you.  _

_ Lily _

_ Hi Moony, _

_ Sorry that the gossip’s gotten around and you’re probably receiving loads of mail about it and also probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’m assuming your mum’s passed and I’m so sorry about it. She was so lovely and kind and I know she meant everything to you. No need to stay strong or do whatever James has instructed you, as you’ve got months ahead of valid time to be as sad as you like.  _

_ Still, we do all miss you. You don’t even have to write us about her, you can talk about anything you want. I’m not expecting anything, it would just be nice to hear from you at all. However, we technically aren’t entitled to a single word from you! Don’t feel obligated.  _

_ Either way, I do hope that you’re doing okay and know that we’re all thinking about you. Hope this doesn’t sound too James-ish, but take care of yourself.  _

_ Sirius _

Remus finally writes back after a week and a half, having collected himself enough to form some words addressed to Sirius. Though he’s not entirely sure the contents of his letter back will be kept to Sirius and only him, he still pours out page after page of raw, ranting feeling into a letter and posts it feeling lighter than he has in days.

_ Dear Sirius, _

_ I’m sorry for not writing for so long. It’s been sort of dramatic, but things have been difficult and quite strange for a while, and like you said, all my feelings are completely valid! You’re right, my mum has passed. Amazing powers of deduction, I might note. She died on the 28th, so it’s been over a week now. Dunno why I’m counting the days, but it seems strange that they keep going by and she’s never going to live them again. Here’s me getting existential. _

_ Is it also too dramatic to say I’ve been literally suicidal since she died? Am I allowed to feel that way / allowed to even tell you? Don’t tell James. I won’t pull anything, I promise, but I’ve just felt really, dramatically bloody awful. Just keep wishing it were me instead of her, although that’s not sensible because I can’t do anything about it now. Sorry for getting you worried, but I’ve started writing this letter and am going to post it right after writing so I can just get it away from me and over with. Just completely spilling my guts right now. _

_ Aunt Selwyn’s running motif is that one day, things will feel normal again, but it’s not of much help seeing as one day seems very, very far away. Am thinking about returning to school over the weekend seeing as there’s nothing left to do here. Admittedly, and also secretly, I’m a bit worried about my dad though Aunt Selwyn and other assorted family might stay a bit longer because they’re all worried about him too. Depression seems to run deep in the Lupin bloodline.  _

_ Also- punk rock has died for me before it even started. You can have it to yourself now. Jimi Hendrix and Funkadelic have been my true comforts other than the whole packet of fags I smoke per day, so you can imagine me as a real and proper rockstar. I think I might go find Sion tomorrow and get my hands on some skunk for real grief-reduction strategies. Food hasn’t tasted the same since she’s died, oddly enough, so warn the others to hop off the Remus Lupin eating disorder patrol. I haven’t done anything purposely self destructive except smoke my lungs out, so tell James not to worry. _

_ I’ve filled this letter for messages for you to tell to others, and secrets to keep from them.  _

~~_ You’re the only person I could even imagine talking to right now.  _ ~~

_ I supposed I’ve reached the end of my tether of things to say. I miss everyone a lot (you can also tell them that, if you feel the need) but when I come back (which might be soon seeing as more time at home is just worse for me) please tell everyone to give me some space about what happened. I’d much prefer to act like things are normal. Make sure Lily and Marlene know that pity won’t help!!!!! Sorry I seem unable to write everyone individual letters. Got to save that part of my brain for O.W.L. studying capacity. Sad to think that those are still happening.  _

_ Random but if I come back on the weekend, I’ll be just in time for Valentine’s Day. Most definitely a welcome distraction, even though I’m a lonesome bachelor this year. Must be tough being a widow on it. Here’s me- getting morbid and existential again! Seems like I may be stuck this way forever. _

_ Sorry for the rambling, sorry for not writing earlier, sorry for all the useless instructions. Plus- sorry for all the apologizing. Thanks for everything.  _

_ Remus  _

The day before he’s set to return to school, Remus is apprehended by his Aunt Selwyn. She’s his dad’s younger sister and always got on well with his mum. Selwyn always laughs loudly, usually has a joke to tell, and Remus considers her words one of these many jokes she loves to tell.

Aunt Selwyn says: “Remus, stop moping, we’re going to the pub.” Remus stares up at her. He’s still stoned from the spliffs he rolled earlier and thinks that he’s just made this up. He has to have made this up. What is she talking about? He asks.

“What?”

“Hope would die all over again if she saw the state this family was in. Your dad won’t come, so I’ll take you. You’re going back to school tomorrow, aren’t you?” A cursory glance around his hellishly untidy room does not give her much of an answer. 

“I’m fifteen.” Remus mumbles. Of all things to do tonight, he was not planning on going to the pub with his aunt.

“And I’m thirty six! Come on, love, you could use a pint!” So they go to a dark, greasy pub in Mold where Selwyn orders two pints of dark ale without the barman blinking an eye at Remus. They drink together: Remus quietly and Selwyn as loud as ever, rambling about Hope and all these bright memories of her. Remus nurses his sour ale and wishes he were anywhere else. 

Aunt Selwyn might want to celebrate instead of mourn, and not celebrate the fact that Hope’s dead, but celebrate that life she’d lived. It’s admirable. It’s not something Remus can do. She’s his  _ mum,  _ for god’s sakes, he  _ should  _ be mourning! But he can’t even mourn accordingly, he hasn’t even properly processed her death, because it all feels incredibly unreal. 

Remus wakes up every morning thinking he’ll go downstairs and see his mum in the kitchen, drinking tea, a smile lighting her face when she sees him. But Selwyn will be in the kitchen instead, frying up something smelly and hard to identify.

Remus always reminds himself that he’s got to go say goodnight to his mum before bed, and then remembers she won’t be in there anymore. His dad doesn’t sleep in there, either. The door remains shut. No one goes in. 

The house feels incredibly small. Like it’s been shrunk down to Remus’s bedroom, the single bathroom, the tiny living room that’s cluttered with camp beds, photo albums, family members, flowers, and other assorted things that Remus can’t place. Why are they there at all? And there’s the kitchen, of course, stuffed with casseroles and pies and all sorts of food items that are supposed to make him and his dad feel any better. 

It’s ironic that when his mum was alive, the house felt much warmer and oddly livelier but there was never anything to eat. Now, there’s so much food, but it doesn’t make Remus feel good or safe. Every few days, Selwyn forces him to eat something. It’s a chore, now.

The last place in the house is the place Remus doesn’t want to think about. The cellar. His mum had spent so many nights sitting on the cold floor, face pressed to the door, crying while her son transformed into something completely inhuman, something that didn’t belong to her. Remus hadn’t been her son. Remus hadn’t been a real person.

Yet, she’s always stayed to comfort the creature on the other side of the bolted door cloaked in magical protections. She’d always been there. 

And now she’s gone. 


	71. [YR 5] One Good Honest Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the moment we've all been waiting for!!! (and i'm sorry in advance for how it goes down :/ )

_ and i don’t want your pity, i just want somebody near me _

_ i just need someone to kiss, give me one good honest kiss and i’ll be alright _

**s**

Sirius pulls his cloak tighter around him and wishes, not for the first time, that it were a proper jacket instead of an expensive winter cloak. A  _ leather _ jacket, specifically, and preferably paired with Dr. Martens. His dream is to have Mary paint the Union Jack on the boots. Incredibly punk. So badass.

Speaking of badass, Remus Lupin has arrived in Sirius’s line of vision. Remus hadn’t been kidding about the eating disorder patrol, and Sirius hates that it’s the first thing he notices about his friend. Remus’s face looks hollowed out: skin a washed out grey, huge dark bags under his eyes, worn out jacket literally hanging off of his bony frame. 

Maybe it’s because the full moon is in the few days. Or because he doesn’t know how to cope with his mum’s death. Either way, Sirius feels this inane and random need to take care of him. He wants to cook him a nice meal and then listen to Led Zeppelin with him, and dance with him and smoke with him and do things that make him laugh. 

“Hiya, Moony, I’m so glad you’re back!” Sirius doesn’t hesitate or ask permission for a hug. He just throws himself at Remus with little regard for the other boy’s personal space. 

Remus goes: “Oof!” and then “Aah!” and then makes this strange hissing noise, and Sirius pulls back while Remus does the same. His face is red for no good reason at all.

Sirius asks “Are you alright?” and Remus nods quickly which means that he’s not alright at all. He tugs at the sleeve of his worn jacket and takes another step back. “Okay, well, good you’re alright. Welcome back! We’ve got the whole day! No classes! What do you want to do? Some food? Want to get a drink? Shopping? Or walking around? We can even go study, if you like, but I’ve bunked off and really don’t want to go back just yet, so genuinely, though, we can do whatever you want.” All Remus does is sigh. Sirius won’t let that deter him.

“Can we go to the Three Broomsticks, then? I’ll buy you something.”

“You don’t have to pay.”

“You deserve a free drink, Moony, and don’t tell me you have morals about paying when you’ve stolen liquor from the back room more times than I can count on two hands.” Remus’s facial expression remains impassive, but Sirius can see his cheeks turn pink. “As I suspected. Come on, let’s go!” 

Despite Sirius’s protests for him to have something to eat, Remus keeps up the mantra that all food has taken on a similar taste and consistency to glue, and instead drinks a great big mug of hot chocolate that Sirius had convinced Rosmerta to spike with Firewhiskey. 

Once they’ve settled down in the warm comfort of the Three Broomsticks, Sirius realizes that he’s got nothing to say. Remus had told him to act as though nothing had happened, but how can Sirius ignore the fact that his best friend’s mum has just died? Remus, for his part, doesn’t look very sad at all about the situation. He sips his drink and takes a long, slow look around the pub.

“So, Moony, I’m sorry about your mum.”

“That’s alright.” Remus tells him reflexively. “My aunt took me to get drunk last night, so I reckon I’ve recovered from the worst of the sadness.”

“Did she really?” Remus raises his eyebrows.

“Would I lie to you? Aunt Selwyn, she’s gone ‘round the twist a bit, if you know what I mean. Still, I wouldn’t pass up free alcohol.”

“You would from me.”

“Piss off.” But he smiles while he says it. And then, again, they fall into silence. Sirius can’t bear it.

“So what’s new with you?” He asks without regard for how stupid he must sound. “What have you been up to? How’s Luke? Do you want to go walk around?” Remus’s face, so thin and pale, now takes on a pensive expression. 

“I think,” he begins slowly, gearing Sirius up for some big exciting reveal of something to do, “I need to catch up on schoolwork.” Sirius feels like a balloon that’s just been popped. He sighs, doing a perfect imitation of the boy sat across from him. Sirius never sighs unless the situation is dire. “Sorry.” Remus adds, not looking very sorry. “But I’ve missed a lot.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Whatever you like.” Sirius starts gathering his things, slowly and sadly, waiting for Remus to tell him nevermind and then engage him in the most fascinating, fun conversation of his entire life. Remus  _ tries,  _ at least.

“Well, you know, Marlene’s birthday is on Monday, isn’t it? We can look around Hogsmeade to get gifts.” Remus’s voice is weak as he proposes the offer. His heart genuinely isn’t in it, but Sirius doesn’t want to go back to the castle until dinnertime at least, and beams at him.

“That’s a great idea! Let’s go!” Sirius can admit that Remus is not the best companion to spend time with at Hogsmeade. As the day grows later and they both end up with decent gifts for Marlene, Remus finally gets his wish of returning back to the castle. 

And then, as Sirius had been dreading, he goes into Remus Lupin Quiet Swot Mode where everything he does makes Sirius upset. All he wants to do is study, smoke, tutor, go on Prefect patrol, and hide from everyone except, apparently, Evans. 

In the week that follows his arrival back to Hogwarts, Sirius is shut out to such an extreme extent that he begins to briefly feel as though he’s done something else wrong.

“He’s just grieving” is the mantra that James and Mary repeat whenever Sirius complains about the lack of Remus in his life. 

“He’s processing in his own way,” Mary tells Sirius knowingly. “You’ve got to give him space, if that’s what he wants.” So an unhappy Sirius gives Remus space. What else can he do? He distracts himself through Quidditch, since Gryffindor has an upcoming match against Hufflepuff in the first week of March.

It’s the end of February by the time Remus returns to Sirius. 

Midnight, or probably later, and Sirius is tossing and turning in bed, the way he’s been every night where Remus hasn’t lain next to him. Sleepless, lovesick sadness. Sirius has been up all night for months. He thinks he must be dreaming when the curtain of his bed twitches and Remus’s nervous face appears in the darkness.

“Sirius?” Remus whispers.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sirius sits up and sees Remus make a gesture pointing upwards that Sirius gleans has something to do with the Astronomy tower. 

“If that’s alright?” Remus asks. His eyes are dark and sad and Sirius knows there must be something wrong if he’s asking for Sirius’s company as though Sirius wouldn’t have said yes. Sirius will always say yes. 

Remus sits on the very edge of the tower. Swings his legs over the side, breathes out steam into the cold night air and watches as his breath fades out. Then he starts talking. Sirius listens, nods, hums in agreement, but never really replies. Remus is going on and on about death. It’s very existential and seems to resemble something close to a religious crisis. 

Remus is speaking perfect blasphemy. He’s talking about God or the lack thereof. He talks about where his mum’s spirit or soul might have ended up, or if God has cursed him for being a sinner (Sirius doesn’t ask about what sins he’s committed, just chalks it up to Remus’s penchant for swearing), asks why so many bad things have happened to him and his family, just asks  _ why _ .

And then at some point, it becomes apparent to Sirius that Remus is having something akin to a panic attack. 

His words trail off as he instead starts gasping for breath, eyes all glassy, making hysterical sobbing sounds and tearing at his hair. 

“Moony, hey, come on, it’s alright…” Remus just shakes his head wildly. Tears off his jacket despite the freezing weather and Sirius feels a lump in his throat at the sight of clearly fresh, dark red cuts all over his forearms. There’s lots and lots of them. More scars than ever. “Come on, take a breath, it’s okay-”

“It’s  _ not,  _ though, because she’s dead! And she’s never coming back!”

“Moons-”

“And I know you’ve got no idea what to say, because you’d be having a bloody ball if it were your mum, wouldn’t you?  _ Christ _ !” Remus is still heaving for breath and Sirius stares at him, wondering where the quip about Walburga came from. It’s not something to fight about, though. Remus is having a hard time.

Then he properly starts crying. Sirius watches as Remus buries his head in his hands. Sobs are harsh and tearing through his throat as he cries, and cries, and cries. Sirius moves closer to him, thinking that maybe affection might be a solution. Touches Remus’s shoulder, then takes one of his hands away from his face.

Remus has stopped the tears as soon as they’ve started. It’s a feat of nature, really, that he’s managed to contain all that mass hysteria in a period of seconds, and Sirius can assume that all of the emotion is sitting in his chest so heavily that it’s begun to suffocate him.

“Remus.” 

Remus turns his face to look at Sirius. His face is wet with tears. Eyelashes dark, still glossy, and his eyes look dark brown tonight. There’s no light from the moon. Sirius kisses him. 

For a moment, it’s incredible bliss. There’s no shouting, or crying, or hyperventilating. Sirius is hyper aware of everything: how Remus’s nose touches his, how warm his breath is, or the motions of his fluttering eyelashes. One second, two seconds, three. 

Then Sirius is pushed forcefully away by a swearing Remus, who’s getting to his feet and stumbling backwards, away from their usual seat. Sirius suddenly regrets everything. No, no, no, he shouldn’t have done that, he should  _ not  _ have done that, he’s ruined everything-

“What in the bloody fucking hell are you playing at?!” Remus shouts. “Fucking- fucking- jesus, fucking trying to  _ kiss  _ me? What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Thanks, Sirius, for the pity kiss! So much! ‘Oh, Remus’s mum’s died, and here, he’s sad and vulnerable, so I’ll give him a good snog to make him feel all better’!” Now, Sirius is confused. Is Remus angry about the kiss itself, or the circumstances in which it had taken place?

“Okay, wait, just wait!” Sirius raises his voice as Remus makes to leave the tower. He gets to his feet, touching the stone banister behind him for support as he’s weak in the knees from the kiss. “I didn’t kiss you for  _ pity.  _ I’m not taking advantage of you!”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

“I- I, I didn’t want it to happen like this, Moony, honest, I didn’t know- I, I wanted you to stop crying, I didn’t know what to do, and I’m sorry… Moony, Remus, wait, please, come on,  _ please _ !” But Remus has turned and left. The door into the main castle slams behind him, and Sirius’s last words are left hanging in the frigid February air. 

**j**

James had never thought of Ravenclaws as the violent type.

Then again, he’d never really expected Sirius to get into a fight with a certain friendly Ravenclaw who keeps himself on generally good terms with other students. 

It had started when Remus and Sirius had a row. James had been expecting this for a while. Sirius has trouble with boundaries, and knowing when to stop, and when Remus had returned home after his mum died, even James had understood that giving his friend space was the best plan of action. Sirius, for the record, had tried.

Remus had pushed everyone away for weeks, and James had been fine with it, because his mum had  _ died  _ and if closing people out is his form of coping, then James can’t stop it. But Sirius, as Sirius does, had clearly grown bored of being shut out of his best friend’s life and had evidently and majorly ruined things with Remus. 

How, you might be asking? Great question! James has no idea. 

Remus, of course, won’t talk about it, and Sirius won’t admit whatever mistake he’s made. It’s not that James believes there’s no way that Remus is at fault, but when looking at the situation from a bird’s eye view, it becomes sort of apparent that Sirius has done something wrong. 

The two of them remain at strange odds throughout February. James is desperate for them to make up. James does not get his wish.

The events transpire after Quidditch practice. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had split the pitch to share for practice. Usually, Izzy would have raised hell about having to practice at the same time as another team, but Benjy Fenwick is captain for Ravenclaw and always gets what he wants, much to her dismay.

So Izzy casts a concealment charm over Gryffindor’s half of the pitch, which works fine until Sirius shows up, half an hour late and in a fiery mood.

“What in the bloody hell!?” He shouts- just a blurry figure waving his arms back and forth. “Have you put up a spell? Let me in!” James is up in the air with Hyatt and Nate, not in the mood to be dealing with Sirius, and lets Izzy handle him. The thing about Sirius, is that it’s very difficult to let other people handle him when you’re the  _ best _ at handling him.

Sirius has already roped her into a shouting match, and James glances distractedly at Hyatt, who just shrugs at him. Even Nate, usually so focused and immune to gossip, tucks the quaffle under his arm to sit and listen to the argument taking place. 

“Thirty minutes late, and I haven’t seen you on time for practice in months! Winter hols are over, Black, we have a match next week!”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? We can’t change the past!” Izzy makes a wordless screaming sound of frustration. Gideon and Marlene, who’d been rightfully enjoying themselves by hitting bludgers through the hoops, now glance at each other and then at Izzy and Sirius, who don’t appear to know how to keep their conversation private.

“But we  _ can  _ change the future! If you aren’t on time for our next practice before the match, you’re off the team.”

“Oh, like you can find another keeper before the match?”

“Yes,” Izzy continues, holding her shoulders up very straight, “as a matter of fact, I  _ can!  _ You’re not as good as you think you are! The only reason I kept you on the team this year was because-”

“Okay!” James interrupts loudly, abandoning his post with the other chasers. “Sirius, come on, honestly, don’t make such a fuss.” He doesn’t say anything to Izzy. A flashing look is cast from her usually warm face, and James feels as though he’s done something wrong by interrupting. “Come on, Sirius, we’re practicing our maneuvers, do you want to keep for us?” He gestures back towards Nate and Hyatt, the latter of whom gives a friendly shout for Sirius to come join them.

So, as it happens, James is forced to sacrifice his favorite pastime of distraction mixed with exercise mixed with fun to make sure that Sirius doesn’t bite Izzy’s head off. Izzy’s a very kind soul and doesn’t deserve to be dragged down by Sirius’s escalating unhappy anger. 

Really, it isn’t fair that James has to take care of them. It isn’t any more fair that Sirius ends up in another fight before the end of the day. Practice is over and James is talking to Hyatt and Gideon, absolutely doing normal things that normal people do, when he hears Sirius say something rather nasty and not worth repeating to a certain Benjy Fenwick.

Gideon pales upon hearing what Sirius has to say, and James is sure Hyatt would do the same if he were ginger and fair skinned.

“Well,” Gideon begins, looking anywhere but the edge of the pitch where Sirius and Benjy are standing, “Great practice. See you later, Potter!” Hyatt waves at him. The two disappear. James is left to clean up another mess.

“What did you just say?” Benjy is snapping by the time James strolls over.

“I was wondering how you even manage to play seeing as you’re so bloody limp wristed-” 

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” As James approaches the scene, he’s somewhat surprised to see Caradoc Dearborn standing a ways behind Benjy with his arms crossed, looking a mixture between upset and confused. 

“Coming from  _ me _ ?” Sirius demands, getting in Benjy’s face. “I mean, look at the pair of you, two bloody poofs-” Sirius is promptly cut off by an attack from a rightfully angry Benjy. James is glad that they’ve all just finished Quidditch practice and no one has their wands on them, but Benjy’s very strong and very cross, and he’s wrestled Sirius to the ground while Dearborn looks on with an expression of mild interest.

“Jesus Christ!” James exclaims, grabbing Benjy’s shoulders and pulling the Ravenclaw off of his best mate, who bears an angry red mark around his eye that James is certain will bruise into something greenish and upsetting. “Sirius, what the hell is wrong with you? Fenwick, why are you giving in to him?”

“This isn’t my fucking problem!” Benjy shouts, shaking James off of him and taking a few steps back. These steps, consequently, lead him closer to Dearborn, who reaches forward to touch Benjy’s arm in a comforting gesture. 

“Let’s just go, Benjy, let’s just leave him,” Dearborn mumbles, tugging Benjy a little farther back.

“Great idea,  _ grand _ idea, you two do that!” James leaves Sirius on the ground and turns around to look at the two other boys: Benjy looking decidedly ruffled, and Caradoc completely unphased. The only thing giving him away is a small frown line in between his eyebrows. James admires his calm front. Neither of them say another word to James. Dearborn gives Benjy’s arm another tug, and the Ravenclaw shoots James one last glare before turning and following Dearborn back up towards the castle.

Sirius has managed to scrape himself to his feet and now looks rather ashamed of himself. Black hair hanging in his face, eyes low, head bent. Like a dog that knows he’s done something wrong. James drags him into the changing room for a moment of privacy where he finds himself forced to unearth whatever’s actually gone wrong so he can get to the bottom of this childish reaction that Sirius has had to something or other. 

Another one of James’s famous ‘talk it out sessions’ begins:

“Okay,” James says in the solid, strong voice that he uses for occasions such as these, “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s wrong? Why you just went after Fenwick, who’s a good bloke, for doing nothing at all?” Sirius paces the length of the changing room, frustration and anger pulsing out of him. There’s an electricity about Sirius Black.

Sometimes his grin will light up so bright that it feels somewhat like you’ve stuck your finger in an electric socket. Snaps and sparks with bright, electrifying energy. And tonight he’s like a thunderstorm; flashing  lightning and stormy thunder. Sirius says “Jesus fucking _Christ_!” and James watches him, feeling both useless and as though he’s the only person able to talk Sirius down right now.

The only person except for Remus, maybe.

“Sirius, come on, just tell me what’s wrong. Is this about the row with Moony?”

“Do you want to know what it’s about? Don’t you already? Doesn’t everyone?” Sirius’s voice has taken on a wobbly cohesion and when he looks up at James, his eyes are oddly bright. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know anything! I’m lost!”

“I’m  _ queer _ .” The word tears itself out of Sirius’s throat, as though it physically hurt him to spit it up. James stares at him, thinking that his mouth might have dropped open, and takes care to shut it. Sirius is  _ gay?  _ James tries to make sense of this information. He stands silently for a period of time long enough to realize that he’s got to say something. 

Sirius is standing with his arms crossed, a position defensive and almost afraid, like he’s waiting for a bad reaction from James. James never wants any of his friends to be afraid of him. But he doesn’t know exactly what to say. This is the kind of news that he has to sit down with for a few hours to digest and make sense of. This isn’t Quidditch changing room talk. It’s not banal and boring. It’s interesting, of course, and rather surprising. James says:

“What’s this got to do with Benjy Fenwick?” Sirius now stares at him in disbelief. “Oh.” James puts some pieces together in his mind. “Is that why you pierced your ears? Was that a sign? Was I supposed to know?” Sirius opens his mouth, and then shuts it. “I mean, wow. And the painted nails, too! I thought it was just a punk thing! Is it a gay thing, as well? Or is it both?” Then, another realization strikes. “Oh, Merlin, is  _ Fenwick  _ gay too?” And subsequently, as though being hit in the face by one awakening after another, James continues: “And he’s together with  _ Dearborn _ ?!”

Sirius’s only movement is raising his eyebrows.

“And,” James finally stumbles upon his final grasp of consciousness for the evening, “You’re jealous of him! That’s why you went after him! You’re jealous! Aha!” Sirius wilts. 

“I’m pathetic.”

“Oh, Padfoot, I thought this was much more serious! You’re just jealous of Fenwick and Dearborn! We’ve all been there, mate, well, not  _ there,  _ you know, but jealousy is only natural. Ah, come off it, Sirius, come on, why the long face? Everything’s jolly good! Everything’s  _ grand!  _ I’m so glad you’ve told me, this makes things so much clearer, it’s as though, it’s like, it’s sort of like I’ve needed glasses but for my mind and I’ve put them on and now I can see everything perfectly! Ahaha! How wonderful!”

Caught in this moment of brief, bizarre blitheness, James gives Sirius a big hug, and upon releasing him, sees that his friend is still more or less stony faced. 

“Alright then, what else is wrong?”

“I’m not  _ joking,  _ James.”

“Joking? Joking about what?”

“About…. about my sexuality. It’s not a joke.”

“I know it’s not a joke! I’m happy for you!” Sirius looks very unsure. 

“Can’t you just be serious about it?” James has never, not in his entire life, heard Sirius ask him to tone down his lightheartedness. 

“Right, mate, of  _ course!  _ It’s not a joke to me, not at all, that’s okay, that’s fine, I’m happy for you!” Sirius’s grey eyes are somewhere in between hurt and confused, like he’s still not sure if James is just having a laugh. “Honestly, Sirius. That’s fine, that’s really fine, but don’t go calling other people slurs and such just because you’re insecure about it.” Sirius hangs his head once again in shame. 

“I should apologize to Benjy.”

“Yeah, you should. Look at you, being mature!” Sirius then does something very unlike him. He gives a great, big, self deprecating sigh that Remus would be proud of. “Sirius,” James continues, trying very hard in his attempts to be placating, “You know that you’re my best mate, and I really couldn’t give a toss if you’re… gay.” The word feels so strange in his mouth. Maybe that’s evidence that he  _ does  _ give a toss. “It doesn’t change anything. Nothing you can do would change anything. I mean… maybe  _ something _ ,” Sirius looks up now, just a gleam of humor on his face, “But not this.”

“Okay.”

“Just don’t be homophobic, alright? Who’s that helping? Evil internalized homophobia releasing itself through the throes of jealousy?”

“You’re too well spoken.” Sirius looks uncomfortable. “But thank you.”

“I love you, mate, I really do.” James tries for another hug, this one from the side and only with one arm, which Sirius responds to better. “I really, really do.” 


	72. [YR 5] If I'm Lost, Then How Can I Find Myself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for all the.... theology. this is a lot of me projecting my own experiences of grief which basically include religious crises and lots of existentialism, so there you go!
> 
> cw for grief & depression

_if i believe you, will that make it stop? if i told you i need you, is that what you want? ‘cause i’m broken and bleeding, and begging for help, and i'm asking you jesus show yourself_

**r**

Religion, as it happens, has never played any major role in the short and unhappy life of Remus Lupin. 

He’s often wondered about what God would let these terrible things happen to him. Those musings had led to n unimpressive revelation that there is no God at all. Remus has remained an Atheist since then, never really stopping to think about faith in a divine spirit. 

Not until the existentiality kicks in. 

It comes out of nowhere, the first few times. He’d been sitting in History of Magic, making an effort to pay attention, but something in his mind had gotten lost and fallen down this dark rabbit hole that had altogether resulted in a panic attack. Remus had been thinking about life and death, and how it seemed as though humans lived lives so short and meaningless compared to the infinite stretch of the universe. 

A very heavy lump in his throat, a hot feeling behind his eyes, a pressure on his chest. Remus had felt too anxious to get up and lock himself in the bathroom to try and find a suitable way to cope, so had instead fought back tears and tried desperately to focus on something, _anything,_ that isn’t the gaping darkness that’s death, that’s nothing and everything and infinity and oh, god, Remus is _so_ scared of death. 

He’s scared of the future. And of what’s going to happen to him. To him, and to the people he loves. His dad, now, and Sirius and James and Peter and Marlene. Which of them will die before him? Whose funerals will he have to attend? Digs consisting of an oversized suit, hair greasy and disastrous, smelling like smoke with tearstained eyes?

Remus tries to find some solace in religion. 

It’s mostly because he’s desperate for something to hold on to. For something to _believe._

James stumbles across him in the library bent over a book on religious theory.

“What’s up, Moony? Studying?” Remus looks up at his friend and feels impossibly tired. James sits down at the table with him, sighing exhaustedly, ruffling his hair as he dumps some notebooks on the table in front of him. “Can you help me with Arithmancy?”

“Sure,” Remus tells him, generally happy to help but not knowing how to hide the book from James, who peers at the spine curiously. 

“Oh, what’s this? _The Idea of Holy,_ hmm, sounds a bit dry, wouldn’t you say? Are you religious now?” 

“No.” Remus mumbles, shoving the book into his bag. “I’m just trying to understand… things.”

“What things?” James asks earnestly. “I know some things.” 

“Aren't you, like, Hindu?” 

“Do you want to learn about Hinduism?” Remus shrugs. There are so many religions out there, so many theories on what happens after death and where the spirit and soul end up. Remus is just looking for some closure. 

“Oh, I dunno, James, I was just… I dunno.” Remus doesn’t like talking about it. Remus, generally, doesn’t want to talk at all. He doesn’t even want to talk about Arithmancy, as helpful and distracting as it may be. Remus honestly would like to go somewhere private and have a good cry. Lately, it seems like all he can think about is the way he’s always, (always!) on the verge of tears for no good reason at all except he’s very depressed and misses his mum and Sirius.

God, Sirius.

“Talk to me, Moony.” James instructs. He’s very forthright about these sorts of things but Remus will not, in fact, talk to him. Remus will do nothing of the sort. 

“I just want any sort of closure on what happens after we die, because it’s making me very existential and worried, and I’m very worried, all the time, like, and I’d like to know what became of my mum, even though there’s no proper way to find out, and sometimes I feel like I’m missing everything just because I don’t believe in God. I _am_ missing something. Without faith, I feel so lost. Do you believe in something, James?”

Oh, well. It seems that Remus has failed in his wishes of not talking. James regards him curiously. 

“Well,” James begins, scratching at his hair even though Remus wants to tell him to just leave it alone. “My parents are both sort of religious. My dad’s Protestant. And I think there’s a God.”

“Do you?”

“Well, yeah.” James seems as though he’s never properly considered this before. “I was raised to think that, and so… I dunno, I think He’s watching out for us. Well.” His dark eyes glance across Remus. “Sometimes bad things happen.”

“And why does He let them?”

“Ah.” James fiddles with his glasses. “It’s all very complex.”

“Well-”

“Well, you’re reading philosophy books on religion, so you can handle complex, can’t you?” James frowns, evidently thinking some things through in his mind, and then continues. “Lots of people say that suffering is some sort of lesson, and that Jesus suffered all the time, but he made himself humble and good, to help others, because he hurt and didn’t want other people to feel that way.”

“So suffering creates humility.” Remus’s voice is sharper than intended. James glances at him with his serious face on, one that is unfortunately growing more familiar in regards to speaking with Remus. 

“Yeah, mate, sort of. Argh. It sounds stupid saying it out loud.”

“No, no, it’s not stupid, it’s what you believe, don’t let me be down on it. Sorry!” 

“Moony,” James leans forward over his long forgotten Arithmancy book. “Maybe you should like… talk about this. Like, your grief, and all.” 

“Oh, no.”

“Because,” James continues as though Remus hadn’t interrupted, “it’s really not healthy to go crazy about it. What you’re feeling is natural.” Jesus Christ, Remus has forgotten how much he despises these deep conversations with his friend. “And I know you’ve fought with Sirius,”

“James-”

“And I know things are hard, but I’m always here for you,”

“I know-”

“And I care about you, and not to sound like your mum,” James had obviously not meant to mean Remus’s mum specifically, just using it as a casual phrase, but it hurts Remus more than he would ever let on, “But I’m _here,_ mate.”

“Yeah.” James reverses his lean and now sits back in his chair a bit, frowning eyes scanning Remus up and down. “Cheers, erm. Arithmancy?”

“Yeah!” And that’s that. Remus sobs in the shower that night, hurting and hurting and hurting, still not understanding how to cope with his grief. 

Directly after his mum’s death, in that week spent at home, it hadn’t been so bad. Things had still been rather tangible. Then Sirius had kissed him, and without the solid familiarity of his best friend by his side, Remus had sort of lost his grip on reality. Grief had stuck him in waves. Sometimes there are good days. He can go about his day normally: making jokes, eating meals, paying attention in class, showing up for patrols on time, conducting tutoring sessions, and getting some sleep.

More often, there are bad days. He’ll be completely distant. No appetite, no desire to learn, to speak to anyone, to do anything. All he wants to do is sleep, and cry, and smoke, and cut. Sirius is angry and far away, James has too many emotions, Marlene is in love and happy, Lily is busy preparing for O.W.Ls. There’s no one to talk to who understands. None of his friends has lost someone the way he has. How could they even begin to relate?

It’s Julie Blackstone who Remus finally turns to. 

They’d just finished an exhausting lesson on the Seize and Pull charm that had resulted in general disaster. The third years this year don’t seem to be half as competent as last years’ class. Julie says goodbye to a fellow Hufflepuff and then shuts the door of the small study room that Flitwick had permitted them to use. Remus has been cleaning up the various objects scattered around the floor, and she sets to help him. 

“How was your vacation?” Julie asks him casually. Remus glances up, not knowing what she’s talking about.

“Sorry?”

“Your little trip?” Oh. His two week absence from school. McGonagall and Fabian Prewett had sorted out the Prefect rota to make up for his absence, but Remus hadn’t said a word to Julie or Pandora, both of whom had most likely been left to continue the tutoring on their own, which Remus feels a bit bad about. 

“Oh, erm. Ha. That wasn’t- it’s just. Well, my mum sort of passed.” Julie’s face turns bright red to match her hair as she stands up with a few weights gathered in her arms. Remus attempts to downplay the information he’s just shared. “It’s no big deal, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I’d be leaving-”

“Remus, please. I know how it feels.” Her voice lacks the pity that James always seems to be dripping with, and Remus is once again so grateful for her understanding. “It is a big deal. There’s nothing else that falls under the category of a ‘big deal’ like having one of your parents die. For God’s sakes, there’s no need to be humble about it.”

Remus stands silently, not knowing how to reply. Thankfully, Julie never seems to find herself at a loss for words. 

“Well, how are you, then? How’re you holding up?”

“Badly,” Remus blurts before he has a chance to stop himself. “I was wondering, actually, at some point, maybe, or now, if you like, if we could…… talk?” It feels like he’s just thrown up. Like Julie is supposed to clean up this mess of sick all over the floor: something he needs to get rid of but doesn’t know how without shoving his burden onto someone else. 

“What do you want to talk about?” 

“I’m just, I don’t know how to feel better. When your dad… when he passed, how did you cope? How were you okay again?” Remus wants to stop himself before saying any more, but the words, as they usually do, seem to come out of his mouth before he has time to stop them. “Because I don’t feel like I’ll ever be okay again.” 

“Remus-”

“Sorry, _fuck_ , I don’t mean to put this all on you-”

“Remus, come on, don’t be so apologetic. It’s fine.” Julie moves across the small classroom, transfiguring the weights back into rubbers and pushing them into a drawer. Finally, she turns back around, intelligent eyes focusing back on Remus. He’s sitting on top of a desk, and she leans back against the dresser drawer- casual and easy. 

“You will feel okay again,” Julie says certainly. “I thought the world had ended, or something, you know? I thought all the sadness was never ending. I just wanted him back.”

“Yeah.” 

“But… I mean, you come to terms with it. Eventually, you know? I probably used humor too much, I think. Second year and your dad’s died, it’s not like you can walk around school crying.” Julie pauses. “ _Well,_ I suppose you can, but _I_ can’t. I’m not that kind of person. Neither are you. It gets a little better once you can start making jokes about it.”

“I’m not there yet.” Remus usually has a dry and dark sense of humor, but he can’t find anything funny about his mum’s death. He’s glad, at least, that Sirius and James haven’t made attempts to joke about it. The pair of them, Sirius more than any, act as though humor is the best way to cope with any unfortunate situation that happens to befall them.

“That’s okay, and it totally makes sense. Like, really, death _isn’t_ funny. Laughing about it is just a weird way to cope, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no way to fast forward grief. You just have to find ways to distract yourself until things start feeling better. Little by little, it’ll get better. Even if you feel like you’re getting worse. It’ll get better. I swear it’ll get better.” Remus nods, avoiding Julie’s thoughtful gaze. “And I’m sorry, too. I know how you feel. Just stay strong, yeah?” Another nod. 

“What did you do to distract yourself?” 

“Oh, I dunno, I just did things to keep my brain busy. Quidditch, honestly, can be good. I’m not on the team, but just for fun. You’ve got to stay focused if you’re up on a broom. Or just walk around the grounds, talking to someone.” She frowns at him. “Or pull some pranks, Remus! You know how to distract yourself!”

“Yeah, true, yeah…” Julie smiles at him. Her freckled face is bright and open. Their conversation hasn’t been long, but Remus feels as though a small weight has been lifted from his chest. 

“You’ll be okay, mate. It’ll get better, I swear.”

**l**

Usually, upon seeing Sirius Black, Lily tries to turn in the opposite direction and get as far away from him as fast as humanly possible. She’s seen what he can do with his wand: covering students in feathers, making them speak in iambic pentameter, sending tripping jinxes around so kids end up falling over nothing, leaving them sprawled on the floor, bags spilled around them: general disaster. 

Today, however, it seems that there’s no escaping.

“Evans, oh Eeevans! Wait up, I need a word!” Lily groans. Marlene raises her eyebrows in mild interest. She and Sirius get on better because of all the time they spend together playing Quidditch, but Lily has never had any bonding experiences with Sirius save for the brief few months in fourth year that they were better friends due to Slug Club bonding. And then he’d ruined that for himself. She and him don’t talk anymore.

“See you in class?” Marlene asks. They’re on the way to Arithmancy and Lily thinks she’d rather get intensely confused and frustrated by the ungodly confusing theories of wizarding mathematics than have to undergo a conversation with Sirius Black.

“Yeah, fine.” Lily’s voice is grudging, but Marlene’s easy face is replaced by the jaunty sharp visage of Sirius, and Lily leans against the wall with a loud sigh. “I’ve got class-”

“Me too! Amazing how our priorities work. Just give me a moment. It’s about Remus.” This, Lily assumes, is just a distraction. 

“What about him?” She asks tiredly.

“Listen,” Sirius says in an oddly humorless voice, “I’m not joking right now.” Lily always finds a little humor in the way he never says that he’s serious. “I’m worried about him. And I don’t see him so much, because I’ve got Quidditch and he’s a Prefect, and he’s got that tutoring stuff, and you see him more than I do.” Lily continues to frown at him. “He’s just not doing well, you know?”

“What do you want me to do?” Sirius shifts nervously in front of her. Lily is beginning to realize that truly, he might actually be serious about this. If Lily would have to pick one person that Sirius genuinely seems to care for, it would be Remus Lupin. Obviously, him and James are best mates, but they’re often hexing each other's hair different colors and, it seems, being completely insensitive to each other. 

Sirius wouldn’t stand in front of Lily, hopping from foot to foot, asking her to check in on James. He would just talk to his friend face to face. _If_ there were anything to worry about when it comes to James. No one can ever say the same for Remus. 

“I dunno, just, like, keep an eye out for him? Make sure he eats something at dinner?”

“What am I, his mother?” Lily doesn’t know why she’s acting like an antagonist. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to do a favor for Sirius Black. Or because if she followed an instruction given by him, she would feel as though every feminist in the world would rain down upon her in disappointed hatred. 

“Wow, Evans, I thought you had more empathy,” a hypocritical Sirius explains. “Be that way, then. Fine. Nevermind.” And off he goes. The conversation had been as short as preferred, and Lily feels no guilt for the way she’d treated him. Of course she’ll keep an eye out for Remus. She cares about him too. 

She hasn’t seen so much of Remus since he’d gotten back. There’d been the quiet offerings of her condolences to him and his quick nod, and that had been the only conversation they’d had about his mother’s death. She and him study together sometimes, but he’s stopped showing his face at O.W.L. study sessions. Lily usually sees Remus trailing behind James at breakfast, but he’s usually not present for other meals.

These dynamics remind Lily of third year, when Remus had done the similar dance of checking out from the world. He looks similar, now: unhealthily thin, pale and drawn, hair unwashed and robes always smelling like cigarette smoke. 

Of course Sirius is worried. Anyone would be. 

After Arithmancy, Lily spends lunch practicing the conjuring charm with Mary, who also seems to be having trouble with it. They sit in the Great Hall and conjure bits of metal that greatly resemble knives (according to Mary), and Lily even manages to conjure a napkin. Then Transfiguration class, followed by Charms, followed by Defense, where they’re taught the stunning spell and Lily is knocked unconscious by Bertnam Aubery, who’d apparently mastered the spell.

She takes an hour to lie in bed afterwards to recover, but knows that any downtime is less time spent preparing for exams. Back down to the library, where she finally runs into Remus, sitting by himself, staring down at a textbook full of runes with no translation guide next to him. Lily wonders if he can make any sense of the runes, or if he’s just staring at them and hoping his brain might be able to put any of the pieces together. 

“Hey, Remus, what’s up?” He looks up with a soft expression of surprise that then merges into something unreadable.

“Hi, Lily…”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Nope, go ahead.” Remus doesn’t say anything else as she sits down, just runs his hand over one of the pages in the book as he glances up at Lily quite nervously.

“Can you understand those?” She asks, gesturing at the runes on the page. “Or have you got some translator worked into your brain?” Remus turns faintly pink. 

“No, I was just… looking, like.”

“Do you want to work on something else? Or d’you want to go for a walk, or something?” 

“Erm… well, I was trying to do work. I guess. It’s just hard to concentrate. Argh.” Remus puts his head in his hands, and Lily opens up her textbook to pull out the assignment. “Can you help?”

“‘Course I can help. This is the assignment from Monday…?” They spend two and a half hours doing schoolwork together. Remus is very competent and Lily is grateful for that. His foggy-headed distance seems to burn off as they get more involved in the work. By the time Lily’s gotten a bit sick of all the studying and words and runes alike start swimming in front of her eyes, it seems that Remus has only become more passionate about the work, and looks up at her in obvious surprise when she suggests they go to dinner.

“Dinner?” He asks, as though having never heard of it.

“Yeah, are you coming?” At her request, Lily quickly sees why Sirius had asked her to make sure Remus eats something. His avoidance and denial are becoming somewhat famous.

“Oh, no. I’m not hungry. And I’ve got to finish this work…”

“We’ve been up here for nearly three hours,” Lily tells him sensibly. “Come on, at least come down with me. It’s late, and I don’t want to eat alone.” The ‘I don’t want to eat alone’ part is most likely what changes his mind, because Remus is kind and understands her sentiments. And so she wins. 

At least on the front of getting him down to the Great Hall with her. 

Once at the mostly-deserted Gryffindor table, Lily sits and watches Remus poke around at the small amount of food he’d put on his plate. The behaviors are so similar to that of third year, and she remains constantly reminded of that bleak, sad period of time where she’d been convinced that he was starving himself for reasons unknown, and had even brought it up to him. Only to be completely shot down.

It’s not an eating disorder, she supposes, it’s just intense grief and obviously not knowing how to take care of himself. Lily keeps Remus talking, doesn’t focus on the food, just engages him in conversation and tries to get a laugh out of him because it’s been too long since she’s seen him in a fair mood and, to be honest, she misses him. Because he’s sitting here, across from her, right now, but he’s not really here.

Remus is trying to cope with something awful. Personality has been worn down by sadness, and any form of self care he might have employed in the past has obviously been lost. Lily knows that she shouldn’t pity him, but she does anyway. She sits with him for as long as it takes to finish his food. She finishes eating much before him, but knows that if she got up and went back to the common room, he’d be right behind her. 

She wonders, briefly but intently, why Sirius is keeping his distance. Remus always seems to perk up when Sirius is looking after him. She can’t do half as good as a job, because she’s not as funny and doesn’t get their inside jokes and probably has a little too much empathy to compare to Sirius.

But Lily tries. Remus finally finishes his food and gives her a very weak smile as they get up and head back to the common room. Lily has been tired out by a long day of classes, getting knocked out, and studying. Always more studying. Remus tells her he’s going to do a little more work and Lily thinks of telling him that he’s overworking, that it’s okay to take a break and take a breath, to sit and let himself _be_ for a moment. 

But there’s his faint smile again, a wordless _I’m fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine-_ his favorite word that’s never ever been used accurately to describe himself. Lily tells him goodnight and Remus tells her thank you. She doesn’t need to ask why. He doesn’t explain himself. They go their separate ways. 


	73. [YR 5] Make it Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay!!!! it's here we're here,, this is it. this is The Chapter. enjoy yourselves :)
> 
> cw in the beginning for general angst & brief mentions of self harm. also- lyrics are from fallingforyou by the 1975, ANOTHER one of my favorites. fuck it, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbN6vBivHPU&ab_channel=mellovesmusic) a live performance if you're at all interested. the only thing that matters in life is the 1975's live album / that entire performance ❤️

_ when the smoke is in your eyes, you look so alive, do you fancy sitting down with me? cause you’re all i need… (i don’t want to be your friend, i want to kiss your neck) _

**s**

It gets old. It wears him down. Sirius hates to feel worn, to be haunted and lost. He’s felt off throughout fifth year: at the beginning, after a summer of torture and hate where the only good part had been the week at the end where everyone had been at James’s house and he had felt an overwhelming rush of home and family and warmth and love.

Then, winter holidays, unforgivable. Sirius has tried to shut it out. It makes him want to cry when he thinks about it, so he doesn’t think about it, because he doesn't cry, nor does he dwell, and so he does his best to forget what had happened.

Unforgivable. 

Sirius enters April feeling like he can’t take this any longer.  _ This  _ being the way Remus is ignoring him. The way Remus throws himself into schoolwork as though he could drown in the white parchment and black ink, as though he wants to wrap his work around himself tight enough to choke. Tight enough to kill. 

Sirius has seen those red and white scars on Remus’s arms: pictures of patriotism drawn over blue veins. Sirius doesn't know how to talk to him about it. What could he say:  _ I know you’re cutting again and I’m sorry, I know you’re cutting and I love you, I know you’re hurting and I wish I could make it better but I kissed you and you don’t feel the same and now things are bad.  _ Or maybe something more simple:  _ I miss you. _

Sirius writes a few more letters to Uncle Alphard and hides them under his bed. He practices Quidditch, even though Ravenclaw is dominating this year despite everyone else’s best efforts, and he studies a little, and he hangs out with Mary and James and whoever. He eats and drinks, stays up all night because more often than not there’s nightmares, nightmares that jerk him awake drenched in sweat and breathless and crying.

Sirius laughs out loud after inflating Bertnam Aubery’s head in the hallway when James suggests the idea, and he serves the detention cheerfully because it’s something to do. Sirius hears about Death Eater attacks in the newspapers and the hallways, and is once again left feeling powerless and odd. 

It becomes apparent that this can’t go on after the full moon in mid-April. 

Sirius, James, and Peter arrive in the Shrieking Shack to find Remus sitting on the bed and crying around an unlit cigarette. His hands are shaking bad enough that he can’t light it, and Sirius lights the end for him while he wipes his face and asks them to leave.

“What?” James asks, louder than necessary, standing a ways back from Remus and Sirius.

“I should have asked you earlier, but please,” Remus’s voice breaks and he takes a drag on the cigarette, “Please, just go, tonight. I want to be alone.”

“Alone?!” James all but howls. “But  _ Moony- _ ”

“Please, please, please,  _ please _ .” Remus is sobbing. Lit cigarette all but forgotten. Sirius watches the smoke curl out of it and feels shaky chills flood through him. “Please,  _ go _ , I have to be alone-”

“You don’t  _ have  _ to-” James argues. Remus is wrapped in a blanket, clothes folded up on the bed next to him, and Sirius sees his body jerk and hears Remus cry out in pain. His shaking hands drop the cigarette on the floor and Sirius stomps it out as he stands up, giving James a look of wild uncertainty. Remus cries out again, still sobbing, and the transformation starts. There’s no choice of what to do. 

Sirius’s transformation to a dog always takes him by surprise. He’s a human, standing tall on two legs and then in a flash, he’s a canine, on all fours, and thoughts turn messy and different. Unlike Remus, though, he can remember what he sees during his time spent as a different animal. Sirius can look back on and process these memories as a human.

Dog sees boy, and boy turns into wolf.

Sirius, James, and Peter have smooth transitions. James might stumble around on shaky legs as a stag and Sirius might take a moment to adjust, but none of their transformations are quite like Remus’s.

The sound of Remus’s screams haunt Sirius at times. Usually at night when he can see and hear nothing but dark, scary things. Remus tears his throat apart with crying and screaming as his body jerks and cracks, skin stretching over his popping bones, jaw snapping as it lengthens, blanket falling off of him as his human body turns wolf. The hysterical, rough sobbing turns into howling as the wolf tilts his head back, harsh howls tearing through him.

The wolf looks worse for wear. Sirius remembers that. His ribcage is visible through his fur, and Sirius remembers that sight like a flashbulb memory, something that strikes behind his eyes when they’re closed. Like Sirius could pick his ribs out one by one, count them all the way down. 

Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail are all wary of Moony as he howls. All of the animals can sense this weary, uncomfortable sadness. Padfoot barks, wags his tail, rolls over on his back in submission. Moony usually gives into this playfulness and calms down, but tonight, he charges at the black dog lying on the torn up boards of the floor, and Padfoot feels a jolt of pure fear as the wolf swipes at his soft belly, roaring in anger. 

His sharp claws tear through Padfoot’s fur and Padfoot feels sharp, hot agony. He yelps in pain and scampers away from the wolf, hearing Wormtail chitter and feeling Prongs’s strong presence move past him, in front of him, defending him. 

It’s a very long night. Sirius doesn’t want to remember all of it. When Moony finally transforms back into Remus, Sirius feels for the first time in his life like he doesn’t want to be by his side. When Sirius returns to human form, the acute dog-pain turns into achy, stinging human-pain.

“Pads, are you alright? Merlin,  _ fuck-! _ ” Sirius touches his quickly dampening shirt and hisses in pain as he sees red blood bloom beneath it. James hovers by his side, talking all too loud, while Peter checks on Remus. Performs the activity that Sirius always does. 

Remus will lie naked and scarred on the floor. There might be some cuts and scratches, but not so often. Sirius remembers seeing him in the hospital wing during the previous years: bruised, battered, broken. Flesh turned different colors from his own anger. Sirius will tuck a blanket around him, help him up to the bed, make sure he’s comfortable and okay and he’ll wake up feeling as human as possible. 

This morning, Sirius gingerly raises up his shirt to see a gash across his ribs. Dark red blood everywhere. Almost black across the tear of the wound because there’s so much of it. Sirius’s stomach is smeared red. James draws a hissing, wince of a breath and Sirius drops his shirt back down, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling, taking a very deep breath while James tells him over and over that they’ve got to go.

It’s not right, that night. 

James is very worried. They leave Remus asleep on the bed in the Shack, alone. It’s not right, but nothing about the night of April 14th is. Sirius begins to feel weak and lightheaded on the way back to the tower, and has to be supported by James and Peter as they climb the stairs to the girls’ dormitory.

Sirius remembers the flash of Lily’s red hair as the sun comes up. _Where’s Remus?_ she asks in a tense voice while Mary, Moira, and Marlene (the three Ms, the three musketeers, Sirius thinks in a moment of odd hilarity) peer out of the curtains of their beds. He remembers Lily touching the gash across his ribs, asking _where’s Remus?_ over and over, asking like she doesn’t care if anyone else hears.

“He’s in bed,” James says, “Where else would he be? What’s this got to do with Remus?” Lily’s green eyes flash oddly like fire, she tilts her head up and stares at James, who stares right back.

“Fix me,” Sirius moans pathetically, and the pair of them snap out of it. Lily’s hands are gentle as she heals the wound across Sirius’s ribs. He doesn’t stick around long. No one asks any more questions. 

Sirius sees Remus again in Herbology class later that morning. The other boy is pale faced and won’t meet Sirius’s eyes. They have a free period after class, and while James and Peter go to the library to do some last minute homework for History of Magic, Sirius drags Remus back up to the dorms with one goal in mind: fixing whatever’s gone wrong between them.

Remus, for the record, puts in some minimal effort. If sitting in the windowsill and smoking a cigarette counts. Sirius sits at the foot of his bed and watches Remus light up with much steadier hands than last night.

“We need to talk about what’s wrong.” Sirius hates being the one to initiate a sad conversation all about deprecation and being upset, but he remembers Remus sobbing plainly, begging them to leave. He usually holds it together around them. Even before full moons, the four of them are usually buzzing with an inhuman excitement of the night they’ll share stretching before them. Not last night.

“I hurt you,” Remus begins, “Didn’t I? I hurt you.”

“Moony-”

“Didn’t I?” Remus’s hazel eyes are red rimmed and impossibly tired. 

“You told us to leave, Moony, and maybe we should have listened.” Remus looks as though his face might crumple. He looks lost. “I don’t blame you.”

“It’ll scar. It’ll stay forever. I’m so sorry, Sirius, I’m so sorry, I knew this would happen, that’s why I asked you to go, I’ve been feeling  _ awful  _ and last night wasn’t going to be okay no matter what. I’m just trying to work through…. to work through everything.” 

Remus lowers his head. Takes a drag on the cigarette. “I just don’t, I just  _ couldn’t  _ last night.” He gestures with his hands as he speaks, cigarette held between two fingers. “I didn’t want others around. I was having a… a breakdown, I just felt  _ so _ bad, and last night would have been bad no matter what. Can you understand that?”

“Yes,” Sirius assures him, “I understand. It was just, you told us too late, you know? Of course we would have argued. You should have told us earlier.”

“I- I haven’t talked to you in ages!” Remus bursts out. “How could I have? I didn’t know how! That’s part of why everything’s so wrong,” he continues, as Sirius feels an odd sinking sensation in his chest, “Is because I haven’t been talking to you. I miss you,” he says honestly. “I think- Sirius, I,” he heaves a huge breath and continues, “I  _ wanted  _ to kiss you. I wanted to kiss back. I feel the same way!” Remus’s voice has taken on a shrill tone that today has nothing to do with sadness. “I feel exactly the same, Sirius, but that wasn't the right time!”

“I know, god, I  _ know,  _ and I’m sorry, but we should have talked about it!”

“Fuck, I just didn’t know  _ how _ .” Sirius thinks up an idea. It’s probably bad. It’s most definitely sort of diabolical.

“Hey, Moony?”

“Mhm?” Remus’s eyes are clear and amber. Sticky, honey, sweet like syrup. He tilts his chin up as he blows smoke, and Sirius imagines the fumes wrapping around him like a bolstering blanket of warmth and good. Of confidence.

“I was thinking I’d ask permission this time, just to avoid an issue,” Sirius begins, feeling as though the words are pouring out of his mouth thoughtlessly, “But d’you think  _ now _ might be the right time?” Remus’s adam's apple bobs in his throat. Sirius looks down his throat to his collarbones- sharp and prominent under his scarred skin, then back to his throat, then to the scar on his jaw, his lips, his eyes. 

Remus nods. 

Sirius hadn’t expected him to taste like cigarettes. 

Benjy had always had peppermint on his breath but kissing Remus tastes like inhaling tobacco, and Sirius love love loves it. He cups Remus’s face with both hands as he kisses him, properly, not something stolen and wrong in the moonlight when Remus’s face had been wet with tears and his breath had still been bated from a panic attack. 

Sirius rubs his thumb over the scar on Remus’s jaw and the other boy becomes a little more forceful. Kisses hungry against Sirius, slipping in tongue and it’s wet and hot and perfect. Remus presses his body against Sirius’s, taking a moment to breathe, then continues. Sirius takes a step forward, feeling a pooling heat in his stomach as Remus drags a hand back through his hair which gives Sirius chills all over his body.

No matter what his mother instructs, he’s never cutting his hair short ever again. Not if Remus will run his fingers through it and hold on, pulling Sirius forward with an intense desire, causing Sirius to stumble a few steps forward and Remus to trip backwards, skidding over the windowsill and letting out a very uncharacteristic shriek as he starts to fall out of it.

“Hey! Oh,  _ shit _ , hey hey hey!” Sirius grabs Remus’s arm and pulls him back through the window, laughing while Remus leans close into him, clutching his own chest and heaving for breath. Then Remus starts laughing. The two of them are nearly crying by the time Remus gets some words out through a hysterically high pitched voice:

“You snogged me out the fucking window!” Sirius doubles over with a fresh set of laughter, and Remus joins in, holding his hand and sending bolts of electricity down Sirius’s spine. His heart is beating hard in his chest, hard enough to feel beating in his throat, and he clutches Remus’s hand with both hands, leaning his shoulder against his, laughing.

It’s relief, mostly. Relief, a shock of adrenaline from seeing his Moony nearly falling ass-backwards out the window, and the crazy disbelief of what had just happened. Remus glances over at Sirius next to him, his face still stretched in a wide smile, and Sirius feels desperate, unyielding love for him. That’s it, that’s all, that’s everything.

As it turns out, they bunk off History of Magic. They sit and talk for a long time. At first it’s about  _ them.  _ Remus is surprisingly quick to agree to a relationship with Sirius. Their whole conversation seems sort of surreal. He wants to date him, but he wants to keep it private,  _ very  _ private, as in no one gets to know.

“James knows I’m queer,” Sirius tells him. “He doesn’t care.”

“Well, I care.” Remus explains rather darkly. “I don’t need anyone finding out about us, okay? You’ve seen the shite Caradoc and Benjy get.” Sirius swallows hard, thinking of his own awful, immature behavior towards the two of them. It had been jealousy. But not of Benjy. Just of the fact that they’re two boys dating and Sirius had wanted something like it so badly. 

“And Dorcas and Marlene,” Remus continues, as though he’s about to count off every same sex couple at Hogwarts, but runs out of them after two. “I don’t want people to think of us as a couple. I don’t want there to be a ‘Remus and Sirius’, you know, like the way I’m mentioning them.” Sirius must have made a face, because Remus adds a hasty “I’m sorry” afterwards.

“So James can’t know?” It’s not as though Sirius wants to completely publicize their relationship, but he hates sneaking around. It makes him feel as though he’s doing something wrong. 

“Like, we’ve only just started, so can we just wait? Can we feel this out?” It’s a reasonable enough request. Sirius Black is a completely unreasonable person.

“I’m not ashamed,” he says brashly but truthfully. “I really couldn’t give a toss what other people think.”

“Great, well, I do.” Remus flicks the lighter in his hand, not smoking but just playing with it. Avoids Sirius’s eyes in that way he does almost too well. “I’m not  _ ashamed  _ of you, Sirius,” he adds placatingly. “But I don’t want to come out to everyone. I’m not ready. Again, we’ve been dating for about half an hour, so can we just feel it out?” He repeats. Sirius takes note of the pleading edge in Remus’s voice and starts to feel a bit bad about it.

“I don’t want to fight,” Remus continues, “We hardly ever fight. And fighting about our relationship status is a bad way to start a relationship.”

“You’re right.” Remus glances back up at him. Sirius is obsessed with his scarred, marked, endearingly handsome face. Remus does this smile that’s halfway genuine and Sirius feels rather defensive all of a sudden, since he’s not sure if he’s ever admitted those words out loud. Remus agrees.

“I’ve never heard you say that. I love the direction we’re going in.”

“Shut up!”

**m**

Minerva McGonagall always enjoys giving career advice during her Gryffindors’ fifth year. Some meetings are decidedly enjoyable, like her brief but thorough conversation with Lily Evans in which the girl promptly and competently explains the classes she’s planning on taking at a N.E.W.T level and her subsequent career plans. She even asks for references, and Minerva is only happy to provide. 

Then, there are others, like Sirius Black, who’s decidedly unpleasant to talk to about career opportunities. 

“What about a Curse Breaker? Or an Auror!” He offers thoughtfully. “That could be fun! I used to think about professional Quidditch, to tell you the truth, but I don’t think I’m good enough.”  _ Or committed enough,  _ Minerva thinks darkly.

“Black, your blatant defiance of authority makes me believe that becoming a Curse Breaker or Auror might prove rather difficult.” She pauses for effect. Black takes another biscuit from the plate in between them. “Any job, in fact, will require you to behave yourself and obey a superior giving you directions.” 

“Hm. Interesting theory. What about,” Black shifts in his seat to take an impossible position of propping his knees up and resting his feet on the edge of her desk, “Entrepreneurship?”

“Black,” Minerva says, “Please don’t waste my time. And kindly take your feet off of my desk.” Black looks at his scuffed shoes in apparent surprise, as though he himself really doesn’t find the thought of them offensive. Still, he complies. “Is there any subject that you find yourself particularly interested in?”

“Divination.” His response comes right away, and rather simply. Minerva had been expecting it to be some difficult thing to drag out. “Really, I think it’s fascinating stuff.” Minerva hates the next question out of her mouth, but has to force herself to remain serious.

“Have you ever felt as though you might possess the qualities of a seer?” Black’s eyes widen. Minerva curses herself for putting the idea into his head. 

“A  _ seer?  _ Wow, no, I haven't! Why, do you get…. do you get a  _ vibe _ ?”

“No-”

“No? Are you sure? Hmm, Professor, please, what’s your sun sign?”

“Excuse me?”

“Enlighten me! What’s your sun sign?” Minerva hates him. Remembers that she’s his professor, and his head of house, and takes a very deep breath before replying.

“Libra.”

“Ohhh, excellent! You’ve no idea how much sense that makes! I think I’ll talk to Professor Wakefield about becoming an Astrologer, anyways. Thanks for the biscuits!” And off he goes. His best friend and partner in crime, James Potter, is a little more forward about his plans following Hogwarts.

“I’m fighting.” Potter tells her. “I know that things are getting worse and worse, and I refuse to sit by and let them happen. I’m going to fight.”

“Potter, you are sixteen years old. You’re not a soldier. You haven’t even passed your O.W.L.s yet!” The Indian boy tilts his chin up defiantly, a mirrored image of Black, but Minerva somewhat appreciates his direct honesty. She’s sure that Black has the same plans as Potter, but hadn’t felt the need to confess them to her- instead opting for wasting her time. 

“I can duel. I’m a very quick thinker. You said it yourself- I’m intelligent. And I’m dedicated.”

“What about Quidditch?” Minerva asks, trying to change the topic. 

“Professor, I’m not trying to argue with you, and I’m not trying to make a statement.” Potter sits up very straight, shoulders back, chin up. His eyes meet hers very clearly. She doubts that she’s ever genuinely sat and listened to him out of pure respect, and wonders if this is the unfortunate duty she’s been destined to perform: watching her students grow up before her eyes. Watching them mature.

“I will not sit by while the lives of people I love are put in jeopardy. And I will not be silent. Silence means taking the side of the oppressor. If there’s a war on, I’m fighting.” Minerva doesn’t have a reply for him immediately. She’s never heard Potter this serious before. Never seen his face take the shape of anything but a jaunty grin, and it’s haunting, to say the last. This isn’t what she became a teacher to do. 

“And if you fight, what will you do after?”

“I’ll worry about that after. First things first, wouldn’t you say? Priorities?” Minerva stares him down, but Potter holds her gaze. Bravery. Resilience. Everything a Gryffindor should be, but Mineva refuses to give in, and Potter finally drops her gaze after holding it for an impressive stretch of time.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter tells her on her way out. Minerva watches him go and prays that she’ll hear no more talk of war for the rest of the day. It’s Lupin she’s most worried about. He’s incredibly hardworking, unconsciously intelligent, and a generally kind person. When he arrives in her office, pale faced and with a weak smile to show her, her main concern is that he’ll tell her he’s joining up with James.

As it turns out, she needn’t have worried.

“So, do you know anything about the Registry?” Lupin asks after exchanging basic formalities with her. “Like, career options, if you've been registered? Because it’s up to me to register, but if I do, then I’m not sure I’ll ever get a job. What do you think I should do?”

“Lupin, I daresay that I cannot point you in any singular direction. The choice is yours to make.” Lupin looks faintly upset, but nods. Minerva looks him up and down, noting his hazy red eyes and the strange skunky scent on his clothes.

“Let’s just assume that you’ll be hired by employers with the same judgements as they reserve for your classmates, okay?” Lupin nods again, but Minerva knows he disagrees. They can’t assume things like this, but Remus hasn’t made the choice whether to register himself with the Ministry yet. He’s still got a year to decide. 

“Ah, what about teaching? How’s that?” Minerva nods. 

“I’ve heard that you have your own group of pupils?”

“Oh, have you?” Lupin scratches his head a little bashfully. “Well, yeah, I reckon I have. Me and this Hufflepuff, Julie Blackstone, you know her?” Minerva nods. “We sort of run tutoring together. It’s a bit fun.” He eyes the plate of biscuits on her desk, and Minerva wordlessly pushes them forward. Lupin gives her an endearing grin and takes one, chomping on it as he continues. 

“So, if I did want to teach, would I need some sort of certification? Like the muggles? What did you do? Or, wait, seventh year  _ does  _ sort of count as higher education, doesn’t it? So I could technically get a job right out of Hogwarts?” He finishes the biscuit and reaches for another.

“After Hogwarts, I spent a few years traveling, learning more about other types of teaching around the world.” Minerva is a bit touched that he’s interested in her past. Or maybe he’s just stoned and making conversation for the sole purpose of eating more biscuits. “And I started teaching when I was twenty one.”

“ _ Wow _ !” Lupin enunciates loudly. “You were so  _ young _ ! How mental! Christ, oh sorry- I mean, wow, I don’t know if I’ll start that young, really. I’d like to travel, to be honest. I’ve always wanted to go to America. California, specifically, oh, the music scene there is  _ lush.  _ Ah, and going to San Francisco? So much  _ music,  _ and  _ culture,  _ and oh, wow, Professor, are you with me?” 

“Sure,” Minerva says rather unenthusiastically. “So,” she continues, steering the conversation back to academics while watching Lupin pick up his third biscuit. “What subjects are you thinking of continuing to a N.E.W.T level?”

“Defense,” Lupin begins enthusiastically, “and Charms, for sure, and History, if I can manage it.” He pauses, scarfing down the biscuit, and eyes the plate. “And Transfiguration, of course,” he adds rather quickly upon looking back up at Minerva. “I  _ love _ Transfiguration!”

“I’m very glad that you’re passionate about your studies, Lupin. Are you feeling prepared for your O.W.L.s?” Lupin nods, snatches up a fourth biscuit, and sits back in his chair while munching on it. 

“Prepared enough. I’ve been studying a lot. I’m sure I’ll do fine.” Minerva feels a twist of sympathy mixed with admiration in her heart. Lupin has always been one of her favorite students. She’d not necessarily meant to go soft on him, but given his condition, it had made her all the more lenient and sympathetic towards his case. Then the suicide attempt, the self harm, the depression, his mother dying.

Lupin has always put in more than enough effort, despite it all. He stops after four biscuits and smiles brightly at her when she thanks him for a mature and prepared conversation. As he leaves, Minerva feels some sort of small comfort in the fact that Lupin, at least, hadn’t mentioned war. She’s not sure if he could handle that on top of everything else. And she knows that whether she likes it or not, he eventually will have to. 

Futures lost to foolhardy bravery in the face of unspeakable violence. It breaks her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, here's a self promo, but i do have a [tumblr!](https://petalsfrarmor.tumblr.com/) it's mostly music, art/photog, and marauders' era art lol but if you want to chat or keep up w me, i'm over there


	74. [YR 5] Hate You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hated writing this chapter, i hated rewriting it, and i still hate it. somehow i found it necessary to include but 🤷♀️oh well. some lines are straight from canon but i've rewritten most of em
> 
> lyrics are from "platypus (i hate you)" from green day :)

_ dickhead, fuckface, cock-smoking, motherfucking asshole _

_ dirty twat, waste of semen, i hope you die! _

**l**

When O.W.L. season finally dawns upon Hogwarts in a fashion that suggests people hadn’t seen it coming for years in advance, Lily personally feels as though she’s managing to do a fine job of keeping her head on about the whole business. She’s witness to many panic attacks, breakdowns, and screaming fits brought upon by the tense anxiety and pressure that exam season brings. 

Both Mary and Lily are told by Carnelian Selwyn that of all people needing to be worried about passing these exams, it’s the mudbloods, and both of them sit and take the information as it’s given to them with little fightback. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Marlene asks as they leave class. The blonde girl hadn’t spoken up either. All three of them had sat and listened to what the Slytherin had to say, but only two had flinched at the use of the slur.

“Why didn’t  _ you _ ?” Snaps Mary. She’s unusually wound up from the stressors of exam season and sighs loudly, apologizing quickly as Marlene gives her a worried look. “Sorry, Marls, it’s not your fault. Ugh… are you two studying tonight?”

“Yeah,” Lily and Marlene say in unison. Mary looks between them with worried eyes. Usually bright and lively, she now looks exhausted and like she’s done her fair share of studying for the day. Or month. Or, come to think of it, year. “Though I’m sort of studied out,” Marlene offers, If you’d like to go do something?” 

“Would you like to go hang out by the lake after dinner? Not for too long, you know, just to relax?”

“Sure! That sounds good. I’m going up to the library now, but I’ll see you later…” Mary waves at them as she heads off, presumably to the dorms or common room, while Lily and Marlene make for the library. They find Remus, Dorcas, and Benjy studying together and sit down with them, preparing for their Charms exam the next morning. 

Dorcas, Benjy, and Marlene all throw the towel in when dinner time rolls around. Benjy and Dorcas make plans to go work off their study-induced stiffness on the Quidditch pitch, while Lily envies Marlene’s plans with Mary. She envies her even more when Sirius Black shows up. 

“Oh,  _ christ,  _ sorry, Lily,” Remus begins fruitlessly as Sirius grins widely at both of them from across the library. “I didn’t know he was coming…” His scratchy voice trails off as Sirius approaches: drawing up the chair that Marlene had been sitting in and twisting his body in an inane position that involves his long legs crossed and his boots on the table in front of them. Lily glares at him with such fire in her eyes that his wide smile flickers, falters, but brightens again once Remus gives him a tight smile.

“Hello, friends! Anyone want some food? Didn’t want you missing dinner, Moony.” Lily watches in silence as Sirius unpacks an entire meal from his bag, and then throws a textbook onto the table for good measure.

“Oh, Pads, we’re not supposed to have food in here…” Remus begins weakly. 

“It’s fine,” Lily interrupts. She casts a concealment charm over the spread and hopes that Madam Pince doesn’t smell anything, or is drawn to them by the sound of Sirius’s loud and haughty voice. 

“There we go!” Sirius is immediately shushed by Remus, who gives Lily a grateful glance. “Eat up, my children. Got to stay sharp for exams. What are we revising tonight, History?”

“Charms, it’s tomorrow.” Lily tells him. “You don’t know the schedule?” Sirius shrugs. 

“Taking everything as it comes,” he explains rather imputendly, “And I’m sure I’ll pass everything. Not like you lot,” he waggles his finger at Remus and Lily, “Who are obviously  _ incredibly _ insecure about your magical abilities. This much studying is bound to mean something psychological. What do you think?” 

Remus has started eating a sandwich and looks at Sirius in surprise, as though he hadn’t been expected to reply. 

“I think everything you’re spouting is rubbish,” Lily offers. “And that you’re a distraction. I’m not insecure. I just want to make sure I’m at my best.”

“I’m always at my best.” Sirius starts eating some shortbread. Lily, although hungry, refuses to give in to the temptation he’s set out for her. A trademarked Sirius Black Grin is shot her way, and she scowls in response, now thoroughly put off by the presence of Sirius. He is, if nothing else, a perfect example of a distraction.

“You know what?” Lily begins, picking up her Charms notebook and noting the dismayed expression on Remus’s ever-tired face, “I’m going to get some proper dinner and go to bed.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” Remus’s protest is weak. Everything about him is sort of weak. Sirius looks back and forth from Remus to Lily as though he hadn’t noticed that it’s his fault she’s leaving.

“It’s been a long day. I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?” She’s addressing Remus and Remus only. Every morning since first year has been blissfully Sirius-free due to his apparent inability to wake up earlier than nine in the morning. “And try to get some sleep, Remus.” She’s wished much the same, quickly and quietly by Remus, and while Sirius starts rambling off some drawn out and dramatic goodbye, she turns in the middle of his words and leaves him trailing off as she departs.

The Charms exam is easy. Lily’s good at Charms. 

She’s not really  _ worried  _ about the Defense one the next day, maybe just a  _ bit _ apprehensive about the practical. It’s difficult, of course it is, but Remus and Dorcas had prepared her well since they’re some of the best at Defensive magic that Lily knows. The practical consists of producing a Jelly-Brain jinx, performing assorted general counter spells, demonstrating dueling spells, and then defeating a boggart.

Lily’s boggart is tall and dark. Masked face, shadowed robes, wand raised and pointed at her face. She doesn’t know the spell on it’s lips, doesn’t know if it’ll shout “Avada Kedavra!” and cast a bolt of green light at her, but she screams “Riddikulus!” at the Death Eater and watches as its mask falls off, revealing a clown’s face behind it, painted in bright primary colors and grabbing its smeared face in confusion.

Her laughter is shrill and fake. Lily’s never found Death Eaters funny. But the boggart disappears, whirled back into the briefcase by one of the examiners. 

“That’s all, Miss Evans, well done,” an elderly witch tells her with a kind smile. “Best of luck on the written exam!”

“Thank you!” Lily is all too happy to take her leave, and leaves the room on shaky legs to find a row of nervous looking classmates sitting outside. Lily gets an hour of freedom in which she paces the castle and ends up in a conversation with a portrait providing advice on the Ancient Runes practical taking place on Friday.

Then, realizing how close she had cut it, she has to sprint back to the Great Hall to make it to the exam just in time: Flitwick had been about to shut the doors for the exam. In a desk, given an Anti-Cheating quill, then an exam paper, then the timers are set and Lily gets to work.

The hours fly by.

There’s three minutes left by the time Lily hastily finishes scribbling her fourth and final page on the role of incubus and succubus in the wizarding world. Her hand aches from all the writing, and she massages her wrist gently while reading over the essay, mouthing the words as she reads over them. 

“Quiet down, please!” Professor Flitwick’s voice jerks Lily out of her mad rereading, and almost as soon as she looks up from the scroll of parchment in front of her, it’s whipped away by his “ _ Accio _ ” and joins the hundreds of other papers flying across the room. Lily covers her mouth with her hands as Flitwick is bowled over and knocked off his feet by the onslaught of parchment. 

Marlene, seated a row in front of her, rushes up with a few other students to help Flitwick to his feet. He thanks them and promptly dismisses the class. Lily sighs in relief and stands up, packing her inkwell away as Marlene walks up to meet her.

“How’d you feel?” Mary asks from behind. 

“I thought it was lush!” Dorcas’s loud voice interrupts them as they make their way past the rows of desks and out the wide doors. “Honestly, I needn’t have studied at all! Easy as pie!” 

“It wasn’t so bad at all,” Lily agrees. No, the Defense O.W.L had been generally easy for her. Something whizzes past her, right under her nose, and she stops sharply, causing a confused Marlene to bump into her. 

“Is that a-?” Marlene begins, a question in her voice, as Potter snatches the golden snitch out of the air in front of her. He shoots her a toothy grin, glazes his eyes over Lily as though she isn’t there, wishes them a good afternoon, and then absolutely saunters off after his friends.

“Arrogant tosser isn’t even a seeker!” Dorcas’s words are loud enough for Potter to hear, but he has enough good sense not to turn around and fire back. Dorcas isn’t one to back down from a fight. Potter isn’t really either. 

Warm June sunshine lights up the grounds in gold and green. Mary’s favorite spot to hang out is down by the lake, so they follow her down there. Lily dips her feet in the glittering water, taking breaths of the fresh air, relaxing into the comfortable graces of nature. There’s a period of hours after exams that can only be described as relief and nothing more, not until thoughts of future examinations work their way into everyone’s minds, but for now, they’re happy enough to stick their feet in the lake and talk about the examination and other, more interesting things.

Marlene and Dorcas are talking about their plans for the summer, which involve attending the Quidditch World Cup final. It’s being hosted in Great Britain this year, down in Dartmoor, but both Marlene and Dorcas have means of wizarding travel to get there. 

“What about you, Mary?” Dorcas asks. “Any fun events for you?”

“Might visit Danny,” Mary tells them with a wicked smile. “He’s only down in Croydon.”

“Ooh! Is it  _ that _ serious, now?” Dorcas has a miraculous way of being interested in anything that anyone has to say. 

“Serious enough for my parents to let me stay with him! I want him to come over for dinner, or something, but you know he’s from a wizarding family and probably won’t be able to keep himself in check. Don’t want him to embarrass himself.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you. Looking out for him like that. Stupid pureblood.”

“That’s what I said!” Mary laughs and Dorcas grins. “Well, are you lot going to study for Transfiguration later? I feel like I’ve just given up on preparation.”

“James was going to help me out,” Marlene mumbles a little apologetically, as though knowing what Lily’s going to say. “He’s just  _ really  _ good at it, you know?”

Lily glances sideways at her. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You got this look on your face!” Marlene protests.

“Yeah, you did.” Dorcas puts in.

“What-? Whatever!” Lily can feel her face heating up and turns her face away from her friends, smiling despite herself, wondering why even the mention of Potter’s name gives her a mix of anxious butterflies and misguided hatred. 

“Speaking of Potter…” Dorcas’s voice trails off as she sits up a little straighter, twisting her body around to look back at the lawn. The other three girls turn in a fluid motion, jaws dropped as they take in the scene in front of them. Potter and Sirius have their wands pointed at a shape on the floor- cloaked in black and most definitely Severus Snape. 

“What are they doing…?” Lily’s voice trails off as she hears Sirius shout something at Severus. There’s a small crowd gathering around the boys, and Lily feels a rush of hot anger fill her up. “Why can’t they ever just sit, quietly, by themselves and not go harass anyone? Why is that so much of an issue?”

Socks on, then shoes, and then she’s striding across the field, not sure if any of her friends are behind her and not caring. She sees Remus sitting and reading, literally pretending to read a  _ book,  _ under a tree while his friends torture Severus. Not for the first time, Lily debates Remus having any amount of backbone. She had cut things off with Severus (for good, or so she thought), but he’s writhing on the ground, choking on soap suds, so she can’t just ignore this!

“Leave him alone!” She shouts, breaking through the crowd that had gathered around the scene. Potter glances up at her. His eyebrows raise, eyes widen, and he lifts an instinctive hand up to mess his hair. 

“All right, Evans?” He asks in a tone that infuriates her to cosmic levels. 

“Piss off, Potter,” Lily snaps, “He’s not done anything wrong.” 

“That’s definitely debateable.” Potter glances down at Snape, still choking most pathetically on the curse that they’ve fired at him, as though he is a dog or something even less important. “His general existence doesn’t bother you? I know it’s quite an upset for me, in general, a daily annoyance…”

“Just one of those types you want to check off your to-hex, list, isn’t he?” Black asks brashly. Potter’s brown face breaks into a grin as the crowd around him laughs, Pettigrew included. Remus, still frowning at his book, doesn’t. Lily hates all of them, at that moment. Remus included. 

“You’re not funny.” Lily is addressing both Potter and Black at this point. “You’re just arrogant bullies, you know that? Just leave him alone.”

“I  _ will,  _ if you go out with me, Evans,” Potter continues with a teasing smile on his face, “How does that sound, a fair trade? I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the Giant Squid.” 

“Bad luck, Prongs.” Sirius cuts in, almost interrupting her. He’s got his eyes on Severus, who’s busy crawling in a pathetic motion across the grass, and has his wand pointed right at Potter. “Oi!” Sirius shouts, but it’s too late. A flash of red light and a gash down the side of Potter’s face. 

He raises a hand to touch his face, sees his fingers come away red, and whips around to get his revenge without even a second thought. Lily watches in dismay as Severus is hoisted into the air. He’s hanging upside down. Worn robes fall upwards and his skinny, pale legs are on display along with a pair of greying underpants. Lily’s dismay is mixed with humor, Severus  _ had  _ had this coming to him, but Lily would be nothing if not for a coward if she sat by and let them continue.

“Let him down!”

“At your wish, Prefect Evans!” Potter laughs as he flicks his wand and deposits Severus on the ground in an ungainly heap. Severus scrambles to his feet, grabbing for his wand, but Sirius is quicker.

“Petrificus totalus!” Severus goes right back down again, flat on his back and stiff as a board. They’re so unreasonably  _ cruel! _

“Leave him  _ be _ !” Lily screams, whipping out her own wand, pointing it first at Sirius and then aiming it at Potter. She feels a rush of powerful energy when Sirius seems to back down, giving her a wary look, but Potter doesn’t have enough good sense.

“Come on, Evans, you don’t want to get into a duel with me, do you?” Potter teases.

“Take the curse off him, and I won’t have to hex you.” Lily holds her ground. Potter and Black exchange a meaningful glance, and Potter sighs deeply before casting the countercurse on Severus. 

“There you go,” he says in a condescending tone, “You’re  _ very _ lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” Severus snaps as he interrupts Potter. Lily feels as though she’s been slapped in the face. 

“Fine,” she snaps quickly, eyeing Severus’s panting, grass stained form. “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” There’s a thrill of excitement that comes with using the nickname that Potter and Black have been sticking on him for years, and she feels both regretful and oddly gleeful when she sees a flash of hurt in Severus’s eyes.

“Apologize to Evans!” Potter is shouting: overloud and unnecessary. Lily hates him. Potter still has his wand pointed at Severus. Lily thinks that she never should have gotten involved in the first place. She should have left well enough alone.

“I don’t want you to make him apologize!” Lily turns to Potter, now, watching his face turn confused. “You’re just as bad!”

“ _ What _ ? I’d never call you a- a you-know-what!” 

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick,” Lily begins, first looking at Potter’s untidy hair and then giving him a once over, “Showing off with that stupid snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can,” her voice is progessiveley becoming more shrill, “I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me  _ sick! _ ” 

Then, the argument is finished. Lily would rather fail all her O.W.Ls than stick around and talk to Potter any longer. She’s literally shaking with anger and genuinely considers turning around to send a hex Potter’s way when she hears him call “Hey, Evans!” after her in that cocky, stuck up, good for nothing tone. 

Lily wants him to keep her name out of his mouth. 

Lily doesn’t turn back.

She wants to forget all of what’s happened. There’s a memory of Severus in her mind that she’s gone over many times in her head, just to make herself feel better. A few words, him saying “It doesn’t make any difference” when they were little kids and he was teaching her about Hogwarts, about the wizarding world, about being muggleborn.

_ It doesn’t make any difference. _

Doesn’t make any difference? Lily had once been respected, and now all she is is a filthy little Mudblood? It makes all the difference in the world.

**s**

Severus knows someone’s going to find him. Head Boy, most likely, because Fabian Prewett is a Gryffindor and might be doing nighttime rounds. That wouldn’t be so bad. It might be Lupin, too, since he’s a Prefect and is so often up to no good. Lupin would be pretty bad, because Severus knows he’s got a fight in him ( _probably_ _because of the temper the wolf gives him,_ he thinks), but he wouldn’t be as bad as Black or Potter.

Severus would probably turn tail and run if it were either one of them. He’s had enough of the two of them for the day. For _ ever,  _ honestly. Severus would be happy never to see either of them again. Still, as he sits and waits outside the Gryffindor tower, the person he’s not expecting to see and generally not equipped to deal with is Mary MacDonald.

“Aren’t you ever going to give up and go? No one wants to talk to you.” She’s standing in the portrait hole, hair a frizzy halo around her head, eyes narrowed. “ _ No one _ ,” MacDonald adds, as though he hadn’t taken the hint.

“I’m not leaving,” Severus snaps rather defensively. He’s had a long day. He  _ should  _ be preparing for his Transfiguration exam right now, but instead has camped out outside the Gryffindor common room to catch Lily and hopefully provide an apology worthy enough to not leave him in her bad books for the rest of his life. “I’ll sleep out here,” he continues, baselessly threatening her.

“No the ruddy hell you won’t! I’ll hex you right back down to the dungeons if that’s the way you’re trying to do things!” 

“Go ahead.” The portrait swings shut. Severus looks up at The Fat Lady, who gives him a sympathetic look. 

“Trying to woo a girl? You know, hounding her might not be the best approach. You can always play hard to get. That usually works.”

“I’m not trying to  _ woo  _ anyone,” Severus grumbles. “And I didn’t ask for your opinion…” He trails off as the portrait swings open, The Fat Lady’s indignant face swinging away as Severus sees Lily replacing where Mary had been before, hands on her hips.

“Are you talking to yourself?”

“No- it was the Fat Lady, oh Lily, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry!” 

“Save your breath.” Lily is wearing her dressing gown, and her face looks exhausted. Warm light from the Gryffindor common room spills into the dark blue of the deserted hallway, but Lily swings the portrait shut behind her, leaving the two of them standing in the dark and cold. Lily’s side is warm. Severus’s side is so lonely.

“I only came down because Mary said you were threatening to sleep here.” Lily’s voice is clipped, cold, clinical: the tone she uses on Prefect duty or when she’s talking to Potter. Severus realizes that it’s a new adaptation of talking to him, now, as well.

“I was,” Severus tries to make his voice sound stronger and deeper, somehow, as though he could stand to impress her at this point, “I would have. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just-”

“Slipped out?” Lily’s tone is so, so cold. Almost mocking. She is being rude, condescending, and nothing like herself and it’s how Severus knows that he’s ruined things for good. “It’s too late,” she continues, as though having read his thoughts. “I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends, you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join the You-Know-Who club, can you?”

Severus opens his mouth, thinking of anything he could say to deter her, but can’t find a single word to use in means of defending himself. 

“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.” It hurts more than the  _ go fuck yourself  _ seamlessly addressed to him after he’d used legilimency on her. It hurts more than anything. Lily’s face is pale white in the dark light of the hall, and her green eyes look dark. There is no humor, and no give. Severus knows that he’s had to pick for years, between Lily’s friendship and the dark arts, the Death Eaters. One of these choices has become more and more unattainable. 

One of these choices doesn’t exist anymore.

“No,” Severus’s voice is pleading, “Listen- I didn’t mean-”

“To call me Mudblood?”  _ Stop interrupting me,  _ he thinks heatedly. “But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?” It’s then and now that Severus draws the unfortunate parallels between the condescension in Lily’s voice and the tone that Potter had used on him earlier. 

One and the same, aren’t they? 

Severus tries to think of something to say, of anything, but it’s too late. Lily gives him a glare of cold contempt that chills him to the bone, turns on her heel, and climbs back through the portrait hole. 


	75. [YR 5] We're Young, We're Thin (Most of Us), We're Alive! (Most of Us)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me getting emotional that i'm writing these losers growing up 🤧 i love all of them. cw for some sexual content during remus's part (finally!) & some brief self-harm related things
> 
> also i'm starting my lunch lady job at the dining hall tomorrow and i'm so nervous pls pray for me

_ these are the people that i get drunk with / these are the people that i fell in love with _

**j**

Izzy cries in the changing room after Gryffindor loses to Ravenclaw during the playoffs. The whole team has gathered around to debrief, and Izzy had been trying to stay strong while discussing their season, but breaks down into tears while James looks on in uncomfortable disbelief. 

“That’s alright,” Hyatt tells her gently, rubbing her shoulder, “We can hex Fenwick’s broom for the final, yeah?”

“Sure,” Izzy sniffs, wiping her face. Then: “I’m sorry, guys, this was just…” Trails off, wiping her face while Hyatt keeps his hand on her shoulder. “You know, it’s my last year here, and it’s been so much fun playing with you all. You all are a great team. Ravenclaw was just _good_ this year, you know?”

“Fucking Fenwick,” Nate grumbles under his breath. 

“But let’s remain good sports, okay?” Izzy continues in a wobbly voice. The tears have stopped but her eyes and face are red, shiny. James wants to escape this sad, end-of-year failure changing room talk. It’s been a long day for everyone. “Fenwick’s really good, his team is really good, everyone’s done a good job this year.” 

“Except Slytherin!” Sirius offers.

“Except Slytherin,” Izzy agrees. “So whoever’s captain next year,” she begins, looking between Hyatt and James, who look back at each other wide eyed, “Good luck. To the rest of you, good luck. Thanks so much for everything!” James is pulled somewhat willfully into a group hug, and upon being released, realizes that Izzy was most definitely insinuating something about him being Quidditch captain next year. 

Nate, Marlene, and Sirius are all talking trash about the match while Gideon, Izzy, and Hyatt stand in the corner rather seriously while speaking to each other. James knows he’d rather join the younger, happier group of people talking, but he has business to attend do.

“So, Adams, Prewett, what’s next for you? Big plans?” All three of them look over at him in surprise as he barges into the conversation. Izzy looks at Gideon, who looks at Hyatt, who looks at the floor. 

“Erm,” Gideon begins rather bravely, “Auror training. Me and Edgar both. Hoping to do some good in the world, you know.” James blinks, having forgotten that Edgar Bones would be graduating this year too. And next year: Hyatt, Caradoc, Noah. It’s scary to think about.

“Are you fighting?” It’s a brash question- loud and cautionless, but the serious, humorless expression on Gideon’s face is enough of an answer. 

“It’s up in the air,” he says, looking at Izzy, and then continuing with: “I’ll do what I have to.” 

“And you, Adams?” Izzy shrugs.

“I’m going to travel, I think.”

“Getting out of town?”

“Something like it.” Her eyes won’t meet his. Even Hyatt looks a bit nervous about the turn that the conversation has taken, so James just lets it go. He’s not used to being left out of things, important conversations alike, but it’s clear that Fabian and Izzy take him as something insincere, and if he’s being honest, James can’t even vouch for himself.

Even after his very odd conversation with McGonagall, he still feels uncertain about the war, about  _ fighting,  _ about the act of  _ going  _ to war in the first place. James is sixteen years old and doesn’t consider himself mature enough to fight because, as McGonagall said, he is still a child. Maybe by seventh year he’ll be all stony faced and unwilling to engage younger students in conversation about his own personal future. 

Lets it go.

June in Scotland is a rather agreeable month. The sunshine is never too hot, but warms James’s face as he climbs up the fresh green grounds back to the castle. He’d want to spend time outside, but there’s the un-decorating of the common room to deal with (Gryffindor usually overprepares for their subsequent victories on the Quidditch pitch), and besides, he’s got to pack. 

Fifth year had passed in a flash of pining, hexing, animagus transformations, and making a fool of himself. As James returns to the common room, raining gold and crimson confetti and strung with streamers and crepe paper, he feels a small knot of existential panic in his stomach related to the issue that he’s only got two years left at Hogwarts. And then what?

War. 

Still, these are issues to be discussed and dealt with in future times. Right now, James spots Sarah Jane and calls to her as he sits down on the sofa amongst the decorations, not keen on taking them down at the present moment.

“Oh, hello Sarah Jane! Hi! How are you?” The cat, surprisingly, doesn’t reply. Not with words, anyways. The huge fluffy creature jumps gently up on the chair next to him and rubs up against his arm, purring loudly as she jumps into his lap. James can attest that cats do make everything better, and the loss of the Quidditch game earlier is softened by the comfort of Sarah Jane in his lap. 

“Are you just hanging out? Huh? Too bad you missed the Quidditch match, hmm… well, we lost, so maybe not too bad.” James kisses the top of the cat’s head, burying his face in her soft fur. “Do you like Quidditch, Sarah Jane? Who do you root for? Personally, I’m all for the Falcons, but maybe you like the Tornadoes? Or the Arrows? Not too many teams in the midlands…” James rocks the cat back and forth in his arms, making kissy noises as she purrs contentedly. 

“Too bad about the match, Prongs.” James looks up as Peter walks into the common room, trailed by Remus and Sirius who are bumping into each other as they walk for they’re so close to each other. 

“Oh, well, you can’t win ‘em all.” James offers. Peter sits down on the couch next to him and reaches a wary hand over towards Sarah Jane, who hisses loudly and predictably swipes a claw at him. “Come on, Sarah Jane, that’s not very nice!” James chastises her.

“I wonder why she likes you best.” Peter says, shifting away from James on the sofa. Sarah Jane has cuddled herself back into his arms and purrs very loudly as he strokes her absentmindedly. “It’s ironic, wouldn’t you say? Evans hates you the most, but her cat loves you the best.”

“Poetry,” James agrees. “It’s fate. Sirius could tell me about it.”

“Tell you what?” Sirius has sauntered across the common room and throws himself down in the small space that Peter had left in between himself and James. Remus reasonably choses a seat in an armchair across from the three of them. 

“Tell me about how fate has brought Sarah Jane and I together in hopes to somehow set me up with Evans. Maybe you should read my tarot, or something?”

“Prongs,” Remus says, “I really think that after what happened last week, you should lay off. Honestly. And you’d been doing so well.” James scoffs. 

“Just you wait and see, Moony man. Just you wait…” He trails off when, as it seems fate has arranged, Lily Evans arrives in his periphery. A glow of dark red hair, the sound of her voice, the faint scent of flowers, as ironic as it is. Magically: she approaches. All four boys fall silent as Lily walks over to where they’re sitting, except for Peter, who squeaks out a small “Hi, Lily!” that’s returned tenfold by her.

“Hi, Peter, how  _ are _ you?” 

“Oh, doing great, you know me. Can’t complain. What are you up to?” Lily has approached them from an angle, and is standing on Peter’s side of the couch, looking and talking only to him. James sits up a little straighter and messes with his hair, hoping she’ll look his way. 

“Not much, you know, just relaxing.” Lily hums thoughtfully, tugging at the edge of her skirt, and James keeps his eyes on her. “So have you heard about the ball on Saturday?”

“Oh, yeah! I thought it was great timing on Professor Dumbledore’s part, you know, no one’s presently stressed about O.W.L.s or anything. Are you going to go?”

“Well,” Lily muses, “I hope so. Actually, I was wondering if you might like to go with me?” James thinks that it’s not his eyes that are the problem. He definitely needs his hearing checked. 

“Go with you?” Peter is asking while James stares at Lily, then at Remus, and then finally at Sirius, who only looks mildly surprised. “To the ball?”

“Did I hear what I think I just heard?” James demands in a whisper to Sirius, who’s quickly adopting an expression far too lighthearted for the news they’ve just discovered. 

“Ahaha,” Sirius says, turning his body towards James as though to give Lily and Peter more privacy. “This is wonderful. This is exactly the thing.”

“What- what do you, what-?” James cannot find the words to describe the panicked confusion he’s feeling.

“Oh, I dunno, Lily,” Peter is saying, “I feel like…” Finally, he shoots a glance in James’s direction, his blue eyes wide and most definitely on the verge of panic. “I feel like we’re friends, right, and I don’t really want to ruin that.” James nods encouragingly. “So, like, if you want to go as  _ friends,  _ then  _ friends  _ is fine, but, and I’m sorry, I don’t really think of you as more than that!” His sentence gets faster and faster as it runs on, and James watches in frank horror as Lily twists her face, looking pouty and somewhat put off.

She asks:

“Are you sure?”

“Quite!” Peter squeaks. “Sorry!” 

“Oh, alright.” James watches Lily’s eyes flicker up to him for only a moment, and he doesn’t even make an attempt to rearrange his face into something presentable and jaw droppingly handsome. “Have fun, anyways.”

“Er, you too?” As Lily strides off across the common room with a very strong air of self importance, James watches her sit down with Mary and Marlene, both of whom are laughing and glancing over in their direction.

“Remember when we all used to be friends?” Remus mumbles. “Played cards, and stuff, like? What happened to that?” James wonders if this is an indirect insult to him. If so, he will do his best to tactlessly ignore it. It’s a good question, though. What had happened?

**m**

It had been no surprise this year as to when the ball would take place. Around holidays, usually, there would be some tense anticipation in the air, but Dumbledore would remain silent at the beginning of mealtimes, even though it felt as though every student was eyeing him with deep, wanting apprehension. 

O.W.L.s passed, and on the final day of exams when Marlene had been giddy with relief and excitement, Dumbledore had stood up and announced that the ball would take place on Saturday, one of their final days at Hogwarts before the end of term. Marlene and Dorcas are both ecstatic and also going together. 

“As friends?” Marlene had asked her one evening as they sat underneath a tree overlooking the Black Lake and giving them a first rate view of the sunset. Friends, but in quotations, you know, the way girls in the closet always say they’re  _ friends  _ with a little emphasis on the word or a sparkle in their eyes that speaks so much more.

“Ha!” Dorcas tilts her head back. “We’re not  _ friends.  _ When’s the last time you’ve thought of me as a friend?” Marlene bites her lip anxiously. Dorcas turns to look at her. Brown eyes serious but still mischievous, eyes you could drown in. 

Marlene says, “I think I’m a little worried, but I don’t think I care.” Dorcas nods, takes Marlene’s hand in her own, kisses it, and then holds it tight by her side. The sky is a wasted lilac, and Dorcas mumbles a spell to the grass around them to make wildflowers grow. Marlene says “I love you” and Dorcas looks up in surprise, with a face that’s never caught off guard except for here and now.

“I love you too,” Is a response that takes no prior thought. It sounds like the easiest thing Dorcas has ever said. White toothed grin but a soft expression on her face, something tender and something in love. She leans forward and kisses Marlene; heather and foxglove bloom pink and red underneath them as their lips join. 

Marlene goes back to Dorcas’s dorm that night and wishes she could fast forward the next two years, because Hogwarts is home but Dorcas is even more than that. If it doesn’t sound too cheesy, then she’ll admit that Dorcas is more like destiny, more like something that shouldn’t be kept apart in separate houses all the way across a big lonely castle. Dorcas’s bed is very warm, her breath is hot and soft on Marlene’s skin, and Marlene thinks she could live this way forever.

She dreams a dream she’s dreamed before: a flat in Edinburgh to call their own. They don’t sleep in a twin sized bed with heavy curtains and a black and yellow dormitory on the other side. Something queen sized, something wide open and free, and there’s big windows to let the light in and Marlene never has to go to bed by herself, or lie, or tell people she’s single because she wants to avoid uncomfortable conversations. 

And flowers grow everywhere.

When she wakes up seeing Dorcas’s olive skinned face washed in yellow from the buttercream bedsheets, she tells her something sweet to get her by.

“I think you’re my soulmate.” Dorcas’s wavy hair is tangled from sleep, and she blinks tired eyes, already smiling.

“What’s that?”

Marlene repeats herself. “I think,” she says slowly, bringing her face to Dorcas’s, lying together with their legs entangled, “You’re my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Dorcas responds. Her breath is sour in the mornings and somehow still endearing to Marlene. Plump, pink lips drawn back in a smile so soft and so sweet, then kisses Marlene very gently. “I think so too.” Dorcas pulls Marlene closer, running a hand through her hair, sucking at her bottom lip and then biting at her neck, sucking hard at the skin and not letting up until Marlene giggles and bats at her uselessly.

Dorcas pulls back, sits up, pulls both hands through her own dark brown hair and whips the yellow sheets off of them.

“You look like you’ve been attacked by a vampire.” She comments. Then: “I’m going for a shower.” Marlene lazes around in her bed with the curtains drawn until Dorcas returns, smelling sweet, hair brushed, uniform on. Marlene gets dressed within the shaded comforts of her girlfriend’s four poster, not wanting to endure any awkward conversations with roommates, and only catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror right before breakfast when the dorm is empty and she’s brushing her teeth with Dorcas’s toothbrush.

Her blonde hair is a long, generally tangled mess down her back. Face is a bit too red because she’s gotten sunburnt from spending long days laying out on the grass in the sunshine, surrounded by Dorcas’s wildflowers, letting the weak Scotland sun burn her into something brighter. The red face makes her blue eyes more vivid. Marlene looks a bit like a different person in the summertime.

Red and purple marks blooming down her neck, and the sight of them gets her face red all over again, but for different reasons this time. Marlene’s not much for makeup but knows the basics of rubbing concealer over a hickey, except she doesn’t smear Dorcas’s too-dark shade over her own fair skin. There’s a sort of heartfelt, unabashed pride that comes with sitting around with love bites down her neck, as though anyone could look at her, then Dorcas next to her, and think  _ oh, okay.  _

Marlene feels like she could take on the world when Dorcas is by her side. Like the two of them, side by side, can kick ass and take names without any fear. It’s fearlessness, that’s what it is, it’s being unashamed and in love in a crazy, terrifying world that’s never loved  _ them.  _ That’s why they have each other, right?

It’s the same way Marlene feels when walking into the ball on Saturday night. Dorcas slides her hand through Marlene’s, wiggling her fingers and then squeezing them tight, grinning at her when she looks over. Dorcas has once again outdone herself in fashion, wearing a sparkling black jumpsuit with a glittering halter neck, tight waist, and flared legs. Her toned arms are dark and tan, collarbones sharp, dark hair tousled down around her shoulders.

Dorcas’s lips are a bright red and she has black makeup on around her eyes. Marlene’s own dress is sort of garish. She often feels misplaced and strange in girlish clothes, and prefers Quidditch jerseys and trousers rather than skirts and blouses. This dress had been lent by Lily: brown with bright pink diamonds on it and creeping green vines across that have been charmed to twist and crawl across the fabric. Long pink sleeves with yellow trim, and soft yellow heels to match.

Marlene feels ridiculous.

“You’re beautiful,” Dorcas tells her sincerely, tugging her onto the dancefloor so, for a moment, they can forget about being unfashionable and out of place only to move their bodies next to each other, against each other, pressing and shifting and laughing out loud. 

It’s nothing special but it’s everything. Marlene’s friends are there, the people she loves, and O.W.L.s are over and they’ve survived fifth year alright. And Marlene, for her part, selfish and oblivious and can be, is not very much worried about the future. If Lily or Mary asked her, then yes, she would admit some fear about the heavy war that seems to swim in the distance like humidity wavering at the edge of a hundred degree street, but to tell the truth, Marlene isn’t preoccupied about the fighting.

It is selfish. It’s her pureblood privilege. She’s sure that things will change, though she doesn’t want them to and isn’t quite sure how, but sometime in between sixth and seventh year, maybe in the spring of 1977, if given a guess, she’ll come to an unpleasant realization that this has to do with her whether she likes it or not. 

But Dorcas isn’t worried either. 

Or maybe that’s just how Marlene sees it. But fearlessness is the best way to describe the two of them: ignorant to the world around them if they have each other. Marlene’s game plan is to keep Dorcas by her side. Everything will be fine if they stick together.

**r**

“Mmph,” Sirius says, rolling over to face away from Remus as he talks to him, “I don’t want to go. I want to stay right here. I’m having so much fun.”

“We’re not doing anything.” 

“That’s simply untrue. We’re lying together. It’s very romantic.” Remus sighs. He’s propped up on one elbow, wishing he had any muscle in his arms to make it look any sexier, but he’s scrawny and besides, his arm is beginning to ache, so he collapses back into bed. Sirius flips around, grinning, and kisses him on the lips. 

“I don’t want to go,” he mumbles against Remus’s lips, trying to convince him of something that Remus won’t give in to, “Do you want to shag?”

“No.” Remus responds quickly. Sirius scoffs. “I want to say goodbye, Pads, come on, please?” The two of them make a very pathetic sight. Light outside is hazy and dark, and the dorm looks dim and empty with only the two of them in it, curled up in Remus’s bed if only so Remus can keep his eyes on the door. 

He’s only wearing boxers, as sticky and stained as they may be, and Sirius is starkers. Everyone else is either at the ball or doing what Remus wants to do: smoking and drinking in the Gryffindor common room as a means of sending off for the eldest members of the ‘punk gang’ as Sirius calls them. Gideon Prewett and Edgar Bones are both following in the footsteps of Alice and Frank when it comes to career options: beginning their Auror training. 

“They might die,” Remus begins morbidly, earning another scoff from Sirius, “They might! What if they do? What if they die and you never said goodbye because you were too busy?”

“I was busy with  _ you,  _ so that’s as good of an excuse as any!” Sirius’s eyes are blue tonight, a little bit electric and giving Remus goosebumps. It’s a metaphor that can’t carry, since Sirius doesn’t properly understand electricity. He grins, flashbulb bright, and then touches Remus again. There’s no protests now.

Neither of them are completely experienced. Neither of them mind. It’s fumbling, touching, kissing, laughing, sometimes, when it gets strange and awkward, making strange noises that sometimes culminate in panting renditions of the others’ name, though usually a nickname is preferred instead of a birth name. 

Remus pants “Padfoot, Pads,  _ christ,  _ ah, ahh,” and opens his mouth, thinking of gasping for breath but not getting quite there, is overtaken by a warm overload of pleasure and good, jerks forward as Sirius sighs in contentment. Remus buries his face in the other boy’s bare shoulder, feeling the slick of his sweaty skin, tasting him, feeling him. Remus’s pants are invariably more stained than ever. 

“Good?” Sirius asks, wiping his sticky hand on Remus’s poor pants. Said hand relocates to Remus’s heavily scarred back, holding him in a warm, safe embrace.

“Yeah,” Remus breathes, “Great. Very good.” His breath comes out all shuddery and hot against Sirius’s skin, and the other boy moves his hand up to nestle in the back of Remus’s wavy hair. They lay like that for a moment, maybe two, sharing something that Remus would never share with anyone else, would never consider casual, thinks is something like presenting your heart and soul to someone and giving them permission to swallow it or stomp on it until it’s all bloodless and weak.

At last, Remus pulls away from Sirius.

“We’ve got to go down.” Ignoring the protests of his boyfriend, he slides out from the covers of his bed (stained, too, he assumes) and squats down on the floor to find some new clothes. Remus has always treated his floor both like a closet and desk space, so it’s littered with assorted things that should rather be put elsewhere. James had given up on telling him to tidy up after second year.

Sirius, now, has assumed Remus’s prior position and wears it much better. He  _ does  _ have muscles in his arm, and when propped up on his elbow, Remus can see the defined curve of where his bicep muscle raises above the skin and bone. Sirius’s shoulders are broad, strong, and his collarbones are defined, chest is firm. He’s got a very nice body. And a nice face. And nice hair. His hair is very thick. It’s still short, based on the events that transpired over a frozen Christmas holiday, but longer than Remus’s anyways. Long enough to run your fingers through with some extra space on the way down.

“Are you going to strip for me?” Sirius asks as Remus puts some suitable clothes in a pile on his lap. “Please, strip for me.”

“You’re awful.” Remus puts on a t-shirt, then a jumper, and stands up to make for the bathroom. “I’m not going to strip for you. It’s reverse stripping, anyways. You’re daft.”

“I would for you!”

“Get dressed.” Remus shuts the bathroom door and then hops out of his pants (they’re  _ very  _ stained, in fact, almost crunchy with the amount of damp… stuff dried onto them), changing very quickly because he wants to see Sirius do the aforementioned strip tease. 

For the record, Remus doesn’t know why he won’t change in front of Sirius since the two of them have just spent sheer hours rolling around in bed, touching each other and seeing parts of the body that no one else has really seen. Because Sirius has seen those thick, dark, and ugly self inflicted scars on Remus’s thighs and just like Sion, had said nothing about them, but Remus isn’t keen on letting him get too good of a look. 

The self harm has become something of an addiction, at this point, as if it hadn’t been before. Remus doesn’t cut every day, nor does he have any worthy instruments anymore, and has, in fact, taken to casting  _ Diffindo  _ on himself, as pathetic as it sounds. 

As pathetic as it  _ is.  _

He’s back to long sleeves all the time, feeling teenaged shame all over again even though he’s sixteen now and should be over it. There’s more scars than ever before, red and pink and white and very distracting, worthy of staring at, and incredibly ugly. 

Remus used to feel bad about cutting himself; he would grow panicked and tearful with terror as blood would well up in the cuts and the weight of what he was doing to himself had hit him. Now, it’s just an old habit that dies hard, and it doesn’t matter so much. It’s just like smoking a cigarette: a way to blow off steam, to help calm down. Remus would never bring it up with James.

Remus takes a good look at himself in the mirror. His hair is all tousled and sweaty, a bit matted, and he thinks he’ll wash it tonight. He drags a brush through it, tugs his trousers farther down since they end a few inches above his ankles these days, and gives himself a great big grin.

“Very nice,” the mirror says, “Love the enthusiasm!” 

“Cheers,” Remus tells it, opening up the door and finding himself sad to see that Sirius is already dressed and not in the midst of a reverse strip tease. 

“Hallo,” Sirius says, “You look nice.”

“You look nicer.” Sirius has stolen Remus’s Zeppelin shirt and wears it with his one pair of muggle trousers: dark, tight, torn. Remus has never understood the appeal of ripping clothes on purpose. 

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Sirius explains, “Shall we go?” Remus nods. They descend from the dorm to find the common room empty except for the one corner where the seventh years always gravitate. Most everyone else is at the ball, but James and Peter are here, along with the boys (or men, these days) being wished goodbye.

They’re both sloshed, which is never a surprise. 

Gideon has his long red hair tied in a ponytail, and is talking very loudly to the group of interested listeners. Caradoc, Kingsley, and Benjy are all there, nursing their own forms of alcohol, that Edgar had obviously provided for free. Edgar is watching the scene from behind his fringe which parts in the middle. He’s had the hairstyle for his whole time at Hogwarts, admirably, and wears it well.

“Welcome, lads!” He calls, cutting off Gideon, who glances distractedly up at them, smiles, and then goes back to his story. “What’s your poison for tonight?” 

“What have you got?” Sirius asks, sitting down in an armchair that immediately has Remus wondering how they’re meant to sit together. He needn’t have worried. As Edgar shows Sirius his collection of clinking and clattering bottles, Caradoc calls Remus over by beckoning at him with the end of a burning joint. 

“Ta.” Remus tells him, straightening up as he pulls on the end of the joint while walking to the open window to blow smoke into the cool June night air. 

“Come on, Prefect Lupin, I’ve been smoking up here all night! One puff out the window won’t change anything!” Caradoc’s southern Welsh accent carries across the common room to where Remus is taking a few deep drags on the zoot to get back at him.

“Doesn’t mean I have to smoke in here. I follow the rules.” James laughs out loud upon hearing that. Remus rolls his eyes and offers the joint to his grinning friend, who waves him off in a friendly way.

“Ah, Potter, the things you miss.” Caradoc’s voice is friendly, not pressuring, and he sits up straighter on the sofa, turning around to see Remus still standing by the window, huffing and puffing on the joint. “Bring that back here, you fiend!” 

“No, let me finish it!”

“Absolutely not! Accio joint!” The assorted party laughs out loud as the spliff shoots out of Remus’s fingers and into Caradoc’s own. “Suck it!” He shouts, and then as though to prove something, takes a pull so strong on the roach that he inhales it, ash and all, and descends into a coughing fit that requires Benjy to slap him on the back in order to help as Remus bashfully walks across the common room, which most definitely smells as though Caradoc had been there.

It’s not the most exciting night that Remus has ever had, and that’s okay. It’s sort of bittersweet, sort of like a sour taste in his mouth and a nostalgia knowing that they’ll never get cheap liquor from Edgar Bones again or have to pause for a few moments in front of one of the Prewett twins, wondering which one it is, before saying hello. 

It’s odd that you don’t have to know who’s who before saying goodbye. 

“So, Potter’s going to become a Quidditch legend, Pettigrew’s going to buy a cheerleading outfit while in charge of his fanclub,” Edgar is saying, pointing at each of the fifth years as he speaks, engaging giggles and laughter from those listening, “Black,  _ you’re _ going to buy a leather jacket and delve deep into the world of punk rock, only because Lupin’s aided you, am I right?”

“Marginally,” Sirius says over his conjured glass of something that looks suspiciously like straight vodka, something which Remus knows should be consumed in short, painful shots and not in a glass. 

“And Lupin,” Edgar continues, now pointing at Remus, who’s leaning on the arm of the sofa next to Caradoc, “Will continue to be Mr. Prefect slash swot slash badass slash stoner. He’s a druggie, he’s your teacher, he’s the boy next door.”

“Mhm,” Remus agrees.

“You’re funny,” Edgar tells him. “And Fenwick, our favorite Fenwick, will continue being a proper upset because he should have been sorted into literally any other house but bloody  _ Ravenclaw _ -”

“Hey!” Benjy protests.

“-And I’m thinking maybe Lupin should swap with him, and so yes, Fenwick will get his arse beaten if he wins the Quidditch cup one more time.”

“I’m not sorry,” Benjy continues.

“Ah, as you shouldn’t be. Our fifth year babies. So proud of you all.” Edgar gazes around at them with a soft expression on his face that Remus knows has to be part of his joke. “And Dearborn, of course, odd one out. Who put you in sixth year? How old are you again?”

“Everyone loves me,” Caradoc says truthfully, ignoring Edgar’s questions. “I’m the most popular person here.”

“Oi!” James whirls around, pointing at him with a glare on his face while Sirius remains quiet, eyebrows raised, but folds his arms over his chest in a way that Remus can indirectly make sense of. 

“Alright, let’s not argue about something as trivial as popularity,” Gideon cuts in, “we’re all friends. We all love each other.” He pauses, looks at Edgar, and grins. “We’re  _ graduating _ !” 

“Oh, the qualms of adulthood. Bane of my existence. Alcohol will be legal in the real world, how am I going to make money?”

“Being an Auror,” James reminds him. Edgar facepalms, says “How could I have forgotten?”, always doing something ironic and joking but it keeps them laughing and steers them away from the darker topic at hand, like why so many students are becoming Aurors, why they feel the need to fight. 

Remus drinks, smokes, eats, puts on the face of a normal person and pretends not to wonder if he’ll see either of their grinning faces again. It’s typical Remus Lupin fearful morbidity, and it may be invalid. But he enjoys the night anyways. He thinks he’d rather be able to spend one last night with this group than hiding up in the dorms. Remus thinks he’s had enough of that for this lifetime. 


	76. [HOLS '76] Stay Outside Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! no spoilers but this might be the last walbuga cw you will ever receive :)

_ will you save my life tonight? i can see it in my mother’s eyes and the way she talks about me. some things are better left to rot  _

**s**

The Hogwarts Express rattles loudly. Voices of students carry from other carriages, voices of those enjoying their last moments with friends before sticky warm freedom of summer holidays, mixed with boredom and longing and everything else. Sirius wishes he could add to the joy, lend his own voice to the mix. 

James, of course, had engaged other ideas. He’d pulled Sirius into an empty carriage and is now rambling on about the many reasons why Sirius shouldn’t go home once they reach London. Sirius isn’t going to stop him. He sits and watches his friend pace back and forth, sometimes stumbling when the train jerks or rounds a curve, speaking with his hands as though giving a speech. 

“Why do you  _ want  _ to go back?” James is asking. “What’s  _ there  _ for you? Is it some bizarre family tie? You know that you don’t owe them anything, right? Just because you’re their son, it doesn’t mean you need to go back. Why, Padfoot?” 

“Regulus.” Sirius’s voice is hoarse from Remus’s fags and having been up all night, warm in Remus’s bed, talking to him. 

“What  _ about  _ him, Pads? He can fend for himself! Your parents  _ like  _ him!”

“I’m not worried they’ll hurt him,” Sirius says slowly, hearing his rough voice move over the words, “I’m worried about what he’ll get up to. No one’s looking out for him. He’s already gone to rallies. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s doing the wrong thing, I’m worried about him.”

“You two don’t even talk.”

“You don’t know the first thing about our relationship.” James stops pacing, finally, and directs his restless energy into sitting down, crossing his legs, not enjoying the way he’s crossed them, and trying the other way. Sirius watches him and feels tense, fighty, like he wants to hurt James, make him feel bad, make him feel like he’s not the bigger person, for once.

Or maybe Sirius just wants Remus back from Prefect patrols. Doesn’t want to undergo this conversation. A cuddle with their backs against the window, Remus’s jumper-soft arms around him, breath hot on his neck, telling him things he wants to hear, not things about home. 

“Sirius, I’m genuinely worried about your safety, and I think you should come home with me, and if you’re not even talking to your brother, then I don’t see the point in even going-”

“Stop-” Sirius snaps, “-pretending like you know a  _ thing  _ about Regulus, and about what happens at home, because it’s nothing to do with you, and it’ll be fine. Okay?”

“Mate, you can’t even  _ write  _ me anymore! You go home, and for two months, you’re off the grid! No mirror-calls, first, and now no letters! That’s not normal!”

“It’s one last summer!” Sirius bursts out. “I’m not weak, James, I’m not running away! I can take it! It’s fine! I’ve got to be there for Regulus, and I’ve got to make it through this summer, and then I’m seventeen and I’m free, and I can do whatever the bloody hell I want but I’m not turning my back and running, tail between my bloody legs, I’m not- it’s not- I’m  _ not _ weak.”

“It’s not weak to leave.” James has his face in his hands, jaw propped up in his palms, and his thick glasses are askew over his crooked nose as he regards Sirius. “It’s strong to realize that you’ve got to make that decision, and then making the right choice.”

“That’s rich, Prongs, because it’s  _ my  _ decision to make. I know you care, and I’m glad, and I’m oh so grateful-”

“If you want to be that way-”

“-that I’ve got you wiping my arse, kissing up, making sure you’re right there at all times in case my mummy says a mean thing, but it’s not that bad, I don’t know why you think it’s so bad!” James’s jaw is tight, his toned arms now crossed over his chest. “I’m, I’m going to go. Okay? It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later.”

Paces down the hallway of the train, motions jerky as the train rattles, and runs into Remus looking exhausted, side by side with Lily, who eyes Sirius with wary dislike. Sirius is burning hot with anger, in desperate need of some relief, and ashamed to find that there’s itchy angry tears building up in his throat, choking him, desperate. 

“Hey, Pads, what’s up?” Remus looks wide eyed and a little worried at the sight of Sirius looking so wound up. 

“Nothing,” Sirius says, feeling wild and out of control and scared. “Are you busy?”

“Erm, just, patrol, but we’re about done. Is something wrong?”

“No.” Sirius looks at Lily, then back at Remus, with his green eyes and worried face. Then, “Yes, actually, please, can I talk to you? Yes? Is that okay? Sorry, Lily.” He’s too upset to waste time on her last name, and grabs Remus’s hand, not caring if she sees, not caring if Remus gets angry about it, and pulls him back down the hall of the train, knocking loudly on the bathroom door and then pushing the door open when no response comes within a matter of seconds.

“Pads, what’s going on?” Remus stands with his back against the door. Prefect badge gleaming on his chest, sleeves rolled up against the warm day to reveal scarred forearms, collar of his shirt half tucked under his jumper, hair all golden and curly, everything Sirius loves. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck.” Sirius tears his hand back through his hair and shakes out his limbs, feeling like he’s wobbling back and forth over the fine line between screaming and crying. “Fuck! Sorry,  _ fuck,  _ I’ve just had a row with James and we never fight, so you know it’s bad, and I’m just worried, Remus, I’m just so worried.”

“Okay, hey, okay…” Remus reaches out and rubs at Sirius’s arm, some form of touch and comfort, and meets his eyes very evenly. “What are you worried about?” The tears in Sirius’s chest are putting alarming pressure on his throat, hindering his ability to speak without crying, and he realizes that whinging out loud about life at home will invariably lead to him standing in the loo and sobbing while Remus watches, and that’s not bound to happen anytime soon.

“Just, home…” Sirius trails off, trying to get a grip on himself. There’s something about the way Remus is eyeing him, something that suggests Sirius is acting a little more offbeat than usual, and Sirius forces himself to pull it together. “Sorry, Moony,” he breathes, wiping his eyes and heaving a huge breath, “I was just panicking, I think.”

“That’s alright.” Remus’s eyes still flicker warily over him. His expression is serious. “We can always talk, if you like.”

“No.” Sirius doesn’t want to talk about it. Life at Grimmauld is much easier to discuss when it’s not so close by. In the spring, or the fall, when London seems far away and more like a sad story, it’s easier to get the words off his chest, but not today. Not when he’s returning in just a few hours, when something worse than ever before will be waiting for him. 

It always gets worse. There’s no way around it. Sirius doesn’t want to know what will happen this time. 

His mum’s already breached the Unforgiveable curses, what with her wordless  _ Imperio  _ last time around, and Sirius knows that sooner or later he’ll be subjected to real and legitimate torture. 

“I’m sorry.” It seems the only thing to say.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” 

“Please, Moony, just… I’m trying to keep my emotions farther away, okay? My parents, sometimes, I think… they try to read my mind.” Remus’s expression stays the same: cautious and cool. “And I don’t want them finding out about lots of things. I’ve got to stay unemotional, okay?” Remus nods. He always understands. 

When they reach London, Sirius locks his emotions away in a safebox behind the ventricles in his heart. Remus seems to understand that Sirius is already working on distancing himself, and gives him the briefest kiss goodbye, a swift, soft one on the lips and then a peck on the cheek because he just can’t help himself. 

Sirius says goodbye to James, maybe mumbles an apology but it’s not loud or heartfelt enough to make either of them feel better. Everyone knows they won’t hear from him. No one knows how to help.

Sirius returns to Grimmauld. 

Spends two weeks pretending to be someone else. 

Doesn’t eat dinner, sometimes sneaks food during the nights, but otherwise stays up in his room. The world goes weak and dark after a while. Sirius is often lightheaded and ill from lack of food, so he sometimes spends entire days in bed, wasting away in the poster covered, paint splattered, version of hell that he’s resigned himself to. 

No one talks to him.

He nearly collapses in the shower after standing up for too long. Tiptoes from bedroom to bathroom, bathroom to bedroom, never leaving the top floor of the house after a while. An uncomfortable, sickening and heartstopping panic washes over him when he thinks about descending the stairs for fear of being caught, and food isn’t that much worth it, so he stays put where he knows he’ll be okay.

Sirius Black wasn’t designed for isolation. No one was designed for isolation but Sirius maybe least of all. He thrives off of human contact and interaction, and he desires with a want so strong to transform into Padfoot. The loneliness, guilt, hunger, depression, all of the sharp, painful human emotions would be softened in dog form.

Save the hunger, maybe.

But Sirius can’t afford to be caught and therefore stays just as he is. Human boy, sad boy, boy who’s given up and just as well has been given up on. It had been a little over three weeks since he’s had a proper meal or come face to face with family members when Regulus arrives in the doorway, as he always does, looking nervous and hovering, as though maybe he’s floating a few inches off the ground just because he could make a quicker getaway than on foot.

He surveys Sirius’s room first. Grey eyes flicker over the muggle posters, the black paint on the walls, the Gryffindor banner and flag. Sirius is lying in bed, curled up in the blankets despite the sticky, humid heat of his room, and turns his head to look at his brother.

“Dinner.” Regulus says. Then he leaves.

In an instant, Sirius realizes that James was right. James was right: Sirius has no relationship with Regulus, James was right: Sirius doesn’t even  _ talk  _ to him, James was right: Sirius doesn’t know why he’s gone home, all he knows is that he brought this upon himself. It’s his own fault. This could have been avoided. 

Sirius knows that this will never get better. Somehow, these few weeks of isolation and hurt stretch an entire lifetime. Sirius doesn’t want to be a Death Eater, but he can’t live like this anymore. Should he die? Should he do what Remus tried to do a few years back, cut up his wrists and die? His family won’t find him for days if he does it in his room. But he doesn’t  _ want  _ to die. 

Sirius wants to fly on his broom as fast as he can go with the smells of  _ outside  _ whipping by: trees, grass, rain, dirt. He wants to watch another sunset, wants to sit on the Astronomy tower and laugh with Remus while pointing out constellations. Sirius wants to listen to muggle punk rock, to re-pierce his ears, to smoke a cigarette out Remus’s bedroom window, to sit in James’s back garden talking and laughing for hours.

Sirius doesn’t want to die. He just doesn’t know how to live like this anymore.

It had been a bad idea to go down to dinner with his emotions running so hot and right beneath his skin.

Sirius had been dreaming of a mouthwatering feast, and is rewarded with dry chicken and rice. The Blacks don’t overindulge. At least it’s food. His parents and Regulus talk, while Sirius sits and thinks about if he’d have to cast a Patronus, what memory he would use. It takes a few moments for him to realize that his father has been addressing him, and he snaps his head up warily, staring in fear at his father’s always impassive face.

“Sorry?” Sirius asks. 

“What’s got you so distracted, Sirius?” Walburga asks. Sirius realizes too late what’s happening. It’s as though someone is rifling through his thoughts like a file cabinet, picking and choosing certain files that look interesting, and Sirius is nowhere enough detached to put a halt to this and throw his mother out of his head...

_ The nighttime is freezing cold. Snow drifts down gently and Sirius shivers, glancing forwards at Remus, who has a gentle smile on his face. “D’you want my jumper?”...  _

_.... “YES!” Sirius screams, pumping his fist in victory. Shouts echo from all around the pitch, similar calls of victory, and Sirius flies a lap in the air, celebrating, knowing that he’s part of a team that’s won the Quidditch Cup… _

_ … Walburga stands in his doorway, glaring at him, face a tight mask of anger. “I want you to leave,” she tells him, taking another step forward, wand clutched in her hand. “Now.” Sirius feels as though his heart has stopped in his chest, feeling as though his greatest wish has come true and at the same time not knowing what to do, where to go… _

_... Sirius is sitting in James’s back garden, sharing a cigarette with Remus. “I hate her,” he tells Remus, watching the other boy nod, “That’s all, that’s it, I just hate her. She hates me. It’s like I’m living in a house with Snivellus, or some other worst enemy.”... _

_ … Remus moans Sirius’s name as they move together in bed, panting, his eyes closed, cheeks red, mouth open. “Oh, ohh, Pads,” he groans, burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder so his soft hair tickles Sirius’s chin… _

“That’s private!” Sirius shouts, red faced, on his feet so fast that his head spins, and he has to steady himself against the chair. “Those are  _ mine _ !”

“You-disgust-me!” Walburga screams. “You sicken me! You’re an utter disgrace!” She’s stood up too, and Sirius feels like he’s facing off against her. Orion and Regulus look up at them with nearly twin expressions of cold interest. “Come here, Sirius, this has gone on far too long.” Her sharp nails digging into his arm, dragging him into the parlor, slamming the door behind them. 

“What- you and that, that  _ half breed!? _ ” Sirius feels his face heat up. He can keep his mouth shut when it’s  _ him  _ being insulted, but not his friends. Not Remus. “My own son, a- a  _ faggot! _ ” This word is screamed in a whisper. Sirius doesn’t know what to say. 

“You’re useless and sickening and ungrateful, and you’ve never loved me! You never have!” Walburga continues, and Sirius decides that he’s held his tongue for long enough. 

“You’re too bloody right! I haven’t loved you for a long time! You’ve been manipulating me for as long as I can remember, you’ve been holding every nice thing you’ve ever done over my head for years, and you’ve turned everything on to you, always  _ you,  _ because you’re a bloody fucking narcissist! You don’t love me, either! So I don’t feel bad about it! I don’t feel bad about it at all, because I fucking  _ hate  _ you! I don’t know how it’s taken me so long to finally admit!” 

Sirius knows he’s done a very bad thing because Walburga pulls out her wand, and he steps back instinctively, still speaking for reasons completely unknown to him.

“You’ve never cared about me- you’ve been out to destroy me ever since I learned to think for myself and you’ve left me regretting independent thought, it hurts being fucking  _ cognitive  _ sometimes because you make me hate myself for being different than you!”

“ _ Crucio!”  _

The pain is worse than anything Sirius has ever felt.

It’s like getting a bad sunburn and having someone slice razor blades into it while it’s healing, and then rubbing salt in the peeling cuts. It’s like having toothpicks shoved under each toenail and then kicking a door as hard as you can. It’s agony. There’s no reason in his mind, no language, nothing but white hot pain that burns his whole body as he writhes on the carpet, screaming in a faraway voice and that’s all. 

Sirius isn’t capable of thought. He can’t even wish it would end. But it does. 

He’s left lying motionless on the rug. Walburga delivers a stiff kick to his body that lifts up his thin frame before he bounces and continues to lay still. She steps on him, then, on her way out of the room and he can only make a weak whimpering sound. Walburga is the last person upstairs for the night.

Sirius lies on the ground in the dark parlor for a long, long time.

When he finally sits up, his head spins from dizziness and he sees black for a moment. Still, he’s determined. He will not stay here. The room spins as he rises to his feet, and he staggers out of the parlor to the front door. The locks trip him up but only momentarily, and once on the streets, he walks as far as he can before the harsh aching of his body forces him to sit down on the curb. 

He wants to cry but he can’t. Aching, crushing panic and helplessness fills his chest. It’s the way he felt when he got kicked out, but magnified intensely. The pain is unbearable. He wants it all to be over. He’s so sad. Lost, unloved, unwanted. 

She’d used the torture curse. She’d used an unforgivable, kicked him, stepped on him, and then gone to  _ bed.  _ Sirius finally starts crying, feeling pathetic all over and as though this haunted loneliness will never end. He shouldn’t have to depend on his family to make him feel safe, and he’s never gotten any comfort from them, but it’s over, now, it’s a feeling like never going back and never having a proper home ever again. 

The only thing Sirius does have is a compact mirror. 

  
  


**j**

“James. James, James, James, James Potter! James Fleamont Potter! Pick up! Pick  _ up _ , James, JamesJames _ James _ !” 

James hadn’t been meditating tonight. He’d been asleep. The voice had been familiar but distinct in the harshness of tones. It sounds as though Sirius is crying, but Sirius never cries, so James doesn't ignore him, as he would have since he’s still halfway bitter about the argument (was it an argument? or maybe something less) they had on the train leaving Hogwarts.

James’s ego is still a bit bruised about it, but he’s sure Sirius had forgotten by now. It’s the last he had heard from Sirius. And now: a mirror call and Sirius is crying. James blinks wearily into the mirror, only seeing darkness as he stares into it.

“What’s up, mate?”

“I need you.” Sirius’s voice is hoarse. He  _ is  _ crying. James frowns in worry, peering at the flash of his friend’s face. It looks as though he’s walking, or running, maybe. Moving outside. Something must be wrong.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’ve left, I’ve gone, I need you, James, I’m so sorry, please, I can’t go back home, I can never go home-”

“Okay, okay, hang on, alright? Where are you?” Sirius is sobbing without restraint, and James catches another shaky glimpse of his pale white face. “I can get my dad to apparate there and bring you back, okay, just where are you?” 

“I don’t know where I am,” Sirius sobs, “I don’t know anything, I don’t know-”

“Take a breath, mate, okay? Huge, deep breath. Like this, come on.” James takes a deep breath, ten seconds in and ten more out, and can hear Sirius’s ragged breathing quiet as he tries to mimic James. James heaves another breath, slow and steady, and listens to Sirius do the same. “Okay…” James begins, “Are there any street signs around?”

“Let me see…” James sees the orange glow of a streetlamp and assumes Sirius has escaped into London. “It’s the cross of Liverpool Road and Brooksby Street.”

“Okay, grand. I’m going to get my dad, alright? He’ll be there soon. Just hang on, it won’t be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” Sirius’s voice breaks. The mirror goes silent. James scrambles out of bed and slips on the hardwood floors of the hallway as he runs down to his parents’ bedroom, hammering loudly on the door before bursting in. He waves his wand to light lamps around the room, and then, very dramatically, he shouts:

“Dad! Dad, dad daddaddad, wake UP, I need your help, wake  _ up!” _

“What- what’s all this?” Fleamont sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes, hand banging around on the bedside table for his own glasses.

“Sirius needs help, we need to apparate to London to go get him, he’s  _ really  _ in a bad way, like very, very bad, please, dad, you need to go get him-”

“Slow down,” Euphemia tells him pacifingly. “What happened?”

“I don’t  _ know,  _ mum, he’s just- er, he’s just called me, it’s very complicated, but he’s  _ hurt,  _ okay? He needs our help. Please.” Fleamont doesn’t even get properly dressed- just puts on a dressing gown over his pyjamas, double checks the street crossing with James, and then apparates away. 

James and his mum wait in the parlor. Euphemia, not knowing what else to do, puts on the kettle. James paces up and down the living room, shaky hands curled into fists, a tight lump of tension in his throat. A loud  _ CRACK  _ signifies the reappearance of his dad and best friend, but Sirius doesn’t look himself, and he staggers while taking a step forwards and half collapses, grabbing the arm of the sofa to hold himself up.

“Sirius!” James shrieks. Sirius looks like a ghost. His face is paper white, rumpled clothes hang off of his thin frame. His lip wobbles as he stares around the parlor at the rest of them, almost as though he’s not sure if they exist. James sees his hand tighten on the arm of the sofa, as though for some comfort, or just for something to hold onto. Then he faints dead away. 


	77. [HOLS '76] Cut Your Limb From the Family Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the note for last chapter- i lied. brief walburga cw here and then i think we're done with her

_days get harder with your ghost, aches will slowly go away_

_cut your limb from the family tree: hope you’re left alone, can’t forgive yourself, hope it’s every day_

_hope you never sleep_

**reg**

It’s a parallel, it’s something wrong, and it makes Regulus feel many, many different things all at once. 

At first he’s afraid.

At first he hears his mother shout “ _Crucio!”_ and lurches into a standing position, watches his father do the same thing. Orion leaves the dining room, leaves Regulus to stand alone and listen to his older brother scream in unchaste pain of abandonment and hurting like nothing else in the world.

Regulus hears his father’s voice, sharp and louder than it’s ever been, as though somehow amplified. His mother and father speak, and then the door of the parlor opens, and Walburga storms upstairs. Regulus watches in childlike fear, wondering unreasonably if he’ll be next. 

An Unforgivable Curse. She’d tortured Sirius. She’d hurt him beyond anything and now she leaves, upstairs with Orion behind her, forgetting all about Regulus still standing in the dining room and not knowing what to do. Distinctly afraid. 

Regulus feels as though he’s floating as he moves into the parlor. Remembers the sound of the door slamming behind his mother and Sirius, remembers their shouting voices and not knowing what to do, not ever. Sirius has been left alone. He’s lying motionless on the floor. Face tilted away from Regulus, so he can’t see if his brother is conscious. Though he’s not sure if he wants to. 

Sirius’s black hair is dark, spread out around him on the floor like a pool of blood, and for a moment, Regulus thinks it is. His heart stops, body tenses up, he feels the breath leave him. It’s just Sirius’s long, thick hair. Walburga hadn’t cut it yet, as she seems to whenever he’s home. There’s no blood at all.

Regulus doesn’t know what to do, because Regulus is afraid and doesn’t know what to do when he’s afraid. He stands and watches Sirius for a long time. So many times, over and over, he thinks about taking a few steps into the parlor, kneeling next to his brother, and talking to him. 

_Sirius, I’m so sorry. Let’s go, let’s get out of here and leave, and you don’t ever have to come back. Where does James live? What about Remus? I’ll find a way to get you to them, I don’t want you to hurt, I love you, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry._

_I don’t know what to do._

Regulus goes up to bed without uttering a single word. 

When he comes back downstairs in the morning, Sirius’s body is gone.

“He’s run away,” Walburga hisses, “He’s gone. How- where- Regulus!” She spots him as he peers into the parlor, feeling a sinking in his chest and an instinct of fear when his mother moves towards him. He knows what she’s capable of, now, using Unforgivable Curses on her children, but now Regulus’s fear morphs into something worse.

Cowardice.

“Regulus, have you seen your brother?”

“No,” Regulus says quickly. “I only saw him last night.”

“Saw him where?” Walburga’s eyes are wild and stormy. Regulus sometimes sees her moods through Sirius, the way he sometimes feels like the tallest tree in the forest during a thunderstorm and sooner or later, the flash lightning of an angry mood will strike him and he’ll come crashing back down.

“On the floor. You know. After…” A tightness on his mother’s face that says _she’s_ scared, now. 

“Regulus, you know I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt him like that. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a queer, your brother.” She says this quickly, throws it in almost desperately, as though Regulus doesn’t already know that Sirius is queer. Hasn’t seen him trailing behind Lupin with some lovesick, puppy eyed expression on his face, holding his hand in the halls, stealing a kiss from him in a passing period when he thinks no one is looking.

Regulus always looks for Sirius at meals, in the halls, whenever he can. Looks for him, finds him, knows he’s there, takes comfort in it. Doesn’t have to exchange any words. 

“He’s a faggot, he’s disgusting.” Regulus says nothing. “Did you know?”

“No.”

“We’ve disowned him. We’re going to. Your father is completing the legalwork right now.” Regulus doesn’t react for he doesn’t know how. “You’ll be the heir, Regulus.” Walburga then corrects herself. “You _are_ the heir. He’s- he’s no one. He’s not part of our family. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” Walburga nods. “I need to… we need to… I need to get rid of him.” She’s muttering under her breath. She’s giving Regulus the distinct impression of a madwoman. “The tree, get him off the tree…” Regulus watches his mother pace into the parlor room. The room where Sirius had been embarrassed in front of family and friends, where Sirius had been abused, insulted, shouted at, hurt, tortured.

Regulus hears his mother’s mad, rambling voice trail off. She forms a real word, this one “ _Confringo!_ ”

Regulus had first heard it as a young boy. Nine or ten years old. Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus had been over, and Aunt Druella had been crying in the sitting room while Uncle Cygnus and Orion got drunk together, though not that Regulus would know. He’d known something was wrong by his aunt’s sobs and the odd comfort that his mum was providing her.

“What’s happened?” He’d asked Sirius, eleven years old and shifty eyed.

“I think it’s Andie, I think she’s run away.”

“Really?”

“With a Mudblood, ah, what’s his name... Ted!” Sirius said, laughing and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Ted Tonks, he’s a Hufflepuff. Andie and Cissy used to fight about him all the time.”

“Oh, wow.” The two boys were sitting on their opposite beds in the shared bedroom, and in the moment of silence, they could hear Druella’s sobs from down below: “Choosing a _boy_ over her own _family-!”_

“Why can’t Andromeda have both?” Sirius wondered out loud.

“What?”

“Ted _and_ her family. Like, yeah he’s a Mudblood, but what’s the big deal? You can’t help who you love.”

“He’s a Mudblood, you said it yourself!” Regulus argued. “She’s a _Black,_ that’s Sacred Twenty-Eight, we can’t just go run off with Mudbloods!” Sirius had looked ready to argue, but then thought better of it and just nodded. Later that day, Walburga had blasted Andromeda’s face off the tree.

Second time was last summer and Uncle Alphard. Everyone knew that Walburga didn’t need to burn her own brother’s face off, but she did anyway. Regulus never has good memories associated with the Blasting Curse. Never thought it would be his own brother. Wonders if Walburga ever thought it would be her own son.

**j**

Sirius wakes up screaming, the first few nights. 

Tearing his throat apart, thrashing in the sheets, waking up in sobs as he clutches at the blankets around him. James doesn’t want to be weird or dramatic about it, but neither he nor Sirius discuss how when Sirius wakes up, James is always there. 

James used to stay up late, foregoing his typical meditation to instead debate creeping into Sirius’s bedroom and curling up at the foot of his bed like some diligent dog. That’s a bit _too_ pathetic, so James instead perches on a chair next to the dresser in the dark of Sirius’s bedroom and waits, hawklike, mothering, for what is inevitable.

Sleep had just taken him the first night Sirius had woken up screaming, and James had woken up with a jolt, slamming his funny bone into the dresser next to him and letting out a low moan of pain while Sirius had shouted at him, asking what he was doing there. 

Sat up in bed, panting heavily as he flickered the lights on, hair wild, grabbing for his wand, eyes full of fear.

“What are you doing!?”

“I’m your protector, mate!” James joked because he didn’t know how else to come to terms with the situation at hand. He rubbed his elbow, wondering if blood would ever circulate to it again. “Look at me, watching over you, making sure it’s going okay!”

“It’s not bloody well going okay, does it look like it’s going okay? Fuck!” Sirius loses his anger after the first few nights. It turns to sadness. A kind of pain that goes very deep. A kind that James can’t understand. 

He’ll start awake, gasping for breath, and then stare around the room in shock. Then he’ll cry. James, more often than not, will sit on the bed with him and be there for him, usually wordless, completely non judgemental, just _there,_ always there. 

The days are better, at least. 

On the first day, after that night where Sirius shouted and James cowered, his elbow sore, Sirius is subject to a deeply uncomfortable discussion with Fleamont and Euphemia. James is not included in it. He eavesdrops anyways, because he knows Sirius won’t relay the discussion back to him. Sirius has distinct trouble talking about his family. James listens because he feels entitled to it.

“...have to report it, Sirius, since you’re not seventeen. They could take you back, you’re not our son, you’re _theirs,_ legally, and if I report it then you’ll never have to go back.” James presses his ear closer to the door to catch the end of his sentence.

“They don’t want me back,” Sirius tells them. “I’m sure, I’m _sure,_ they won’t want me back.”

“Sirius, love, how can we be sure?” Euphemia, now. 

“How can they just take me back, what, by force? They won’t show up here! I’m safe here!” A pause. “Aren’t I?”

“If it comes into question of who’s legally your family, then… Sirius, it’s not us.”

“It won’t come into question.” James can tell that Sirius is putting on his fake-strong voice. James can tell that Sirius is scared. “I don’t want to report it, please, I don’t want to talk about it, not to anyone, they’ll have a whole investigation, it’s just a few months until I’m seventeen, _please._ ” Another pause. James wishes he had snuck into the room under the Invisibility Cloak.

“Sirius…”

“Listen, Mr. Potter, just listen. My family, they _don’t_ want me back. They hate me. Look, listen, do you know what they do? We have this massive tapestry of the family tree, and they blast people off of it. My cousin, Andromeda, she ran away and they just burnt her off. And my Uncle Alphard, him too. They just burn their faces off, because they’re done. They want to pretend you’ve never even existed. They’ll do the same for me. I can promise you.”

More silence.

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, I can write to my brother, if you like, to check. I’m sure they’ve disowned me.” 

“Sirius…”

“I, please, just. I’m so, so grateful you’re, you’re letting me stay here, and I don’t want to fight with you…” Sirius’s voice is taking on an odd, croaky and wobbly cohesion, “But I won’t report it. I-I don’t know what else to tell you. I won’t do it. They don’t want me back, I swear. I’m not going to report it. I’m sorry.” 

“If that’s your wish, Sirius.” Euphemia finally tells him. “We only want what’s best for you.”

“Your safety matters to us more than anything,” Fleamont adds. “By God, son, we will protect you. You _are_ safe here. We’re here for you, Sirius.” The conversation seems to be nearing an end, and so before James can be caught with his ear pressed right against the door, he makes a quick, great escape into the kitchen, where he heats up a few pieces of toast, butters them, adds some jam, then considers peanut butter, then makes more, puts on the kettle, produces a packet of biscuits, and then paces in unhelpful circles.

Sirius walks in a few minutes later. He looks unconventional: dark circles under his eyes, face paler than usual, with a heat of pink flushing up from his jaw.

“Hi, Padfoot, want some toast?”

“That’ll be my third breakfast today, but yes, cheers, thanks very much.” Sirius smiles weakly as he takes a piece of toast from James and sits down heavily at the table, frowning as he munches at the toast. “Your mum won’t stop feeding me.”

“Food is love, mate.” James tells him. He joins Sirius at the table, levitating mugs over in front of them, and glances over at his friend, who still looks deep in thought. “What’s up with you? Fun chat with the parents?”

“What?”

“My parents,” James self corrects quickly.

“Oh, yeah. Just, you know, family stuff, whatever. Legal business.” Sirius takes a sip of tea and sets the cup down harder than necessary. His hands are shaking, and he busies himself with more toast. “I was just, you know, I’m sort of worried about my stuff. All my things. Are at home.” 

“Oh.”

“And it’s mostly clothes, or whatever, like I’ve got my wand and my mirror, and that’s all I need, but…” James looks closely at Sirius, who is avoiding his eye contact. “There’s letters, records, and stuff. And my school stuff, I guess. I’ll have to buy more.”

“Just borrow mine.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not a big deal. I’ll get over it.” His voice is clipped. “Do you want to go for a walk, or something?”

“A walk? Yeah, sure. Peter’s just down the street, if you want to say hi.”

“I don’t want to tell him why I’m here.” Sirius examines his piece of toast before taking a bite. “I don’t want to see him, really, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, yeah. No problem.” So they go into the village after Sirius’s third breakfast. He’s oddly quiet, but will respond if James talks to him, sometimes keeping up a conversation but often drifting off into unspecifics, saying a few words, losing his way and then giving up on the sentence as it’s started. Sirius buys a packet of Woodbines cigarettes from a shop and doesn’t talk about why. 

He spots a payphone, mentions a desire to speak to Remus, and he and James spend about ten minutes figuring out the mechanics of it before finally casting some spells on it and getting a dial tone.

**s**

“Hello, who’s this?”

“Sirius.”

“ _Sirius_?”

“Missed me?” Just the sound of Remus’s hoarse, cigarette scratched voice has put Sirius in an exponentially better mood than before.

“How are you calling me?”

“This line’s down in Devon, if that helps.”

“James’s? Why didn’t you write?”

“It was a bit of a complicated escape. You could write stories about it, I’m sure.” Remus is silent for enough of a moment that Sirius gauges his boyfriend has understood what’s happened. 

“So you’ve left? For good, like?”

“You got it, detective Moony. Never to return. Weight off of my shoulders! How’re you?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Do I?”

“I missed you, over the moon.” Sirius had forgotten all about the full moon earlier in July. He’s shocked and ashamed to realize this, that he’d forgotten about the moon. A luxury that Remus will never understand.

“How was it?”

“Bad…” Remus seems to be thinking of what to say. “I’ve got this awful new scar. Erm. Straight across my face. I look mad.” 

“Moony…”

“It’s fine, you know, it’s whatever. What can you do? Back to lying about it, now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. Just a warning.”

“I want to spend the next one with you, Moons. D’you think I can?”

“How?” Both of them think for a moment. 

“If I came up and visited over the moon, I could come with you to the cellar…”

“My dad locks me in,” Remus says warily. “There’s no way to sneak.”

“With the cloak?”

“There’s wards…” 

“What if you told him, honestly? Just said ‘hey dad, Sirius is an animagus because he loves me more than anyone in the whole wide world, so please just let him down in the cellar so I don’t get any more mad scars?’ Would that work?”

“You do realize that what you’ve done is completely illegal, right?”

“What, like your dad will send me to Azkaban?” Remus sighs. And then, surprisingly, he says that he’ll ask his dad about it. Sirius gathers that the last moon must have been _really_ bad if Remus is this agreeable. 

“Can you owl me if I can come?”

“Oh, my owl’s died. Poor Malcolm. I knew it was coming, he held on for longer than expected, anyways. Can you just call me back tonight?” Sirius agrees to it. He’s about to hang up, before Remus adds- “And we’re supposed to get O.W.L results soon, you know. We should compare.” Then, as an afterthought: “Love you, Pads.”

Remus had been right. O.W.L results arrive after Sirius’s second lunch, when he and James are lounging about in the back garden, not talking much about anything in particular. Both of them watch with distinct worry as the birds fly over to them. Sirius, for his part, has more in life to worry about than exam results but Remus’s sly conversational tactics of suggesting they _compare_ has Sirius’s palms sweaty, because even though it isn’t a competition, he wants to win.

“Oh, so exciting, so exciting,” James murmurs unnecessarily as he pats the bird on the head, smiles at Sirius, and then tears open the envelope. “Hmm, hmm, supplies, Quidditch announcements, results! Aha! Let’s see, A in Arithmancy, that’s good, A in Astronomy, E in Charms, just as suspected…” Sirius blanks out James’s prattling as he examines his own results.

ASTRONOMY: O

CHARMS: E

DEFENCE: O

DIVINATION: O

HERBOLOGY: A

HISTORY: D

MUGGLE: A

POTIONS: D

TRANSFIG: O

“What about you, Pads, how many did you get?” 

“Seven,” Sirius responds in somewhat of a shock, glancing up at James. “You?”

“Same, sevennn…” James trails off, eyes widening as he shuffles through the papers delivered in the envelope. “Oh my god, oh Merlin, oh _christ,_ Sirius, Padfoot! Holy _SHIT!”_

“What?” Sirius looks up from his own letter as James throws himself at him, obviously going for a hug, but Sirius jerks his garden chair back, sending up an almighty screech as the metal scrapes hard against stone, and James blinks in momentary surprise, not used to being denied affection, especially from Sirius, but moves on from this with an almighty shout that Sirius is sure every neighbor will hear:

“They’ve made me _QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN!”_

The celebration that night over dinner includes champagne and lots of food, and promise of a new broomstick for James.

“I want a Nimbus!” James says loudly over his father and Sirius, who are bickering about which brooms are best.

“A Shooting Star will do you better!” Sirius explains, while Fleamont insists:

“There’s a new Comet model- the 22o- I’ve been flying Comets most of my life, they’re the best-”

“Nimbus, Nimbus Nimbus!” James shouts. “If I get anything else, I’ll give it to you, Sirius. You can have my Silver Arrow, anyways.”

“Thanks,” Sirius says with a weak grin, thinking briefly about his own slim Moontrimmer at home. It’s an old make, but was a good broom. It was designed for Seekers rather than Keepers, and had been his dad’s choice of model, but Sirius doesn’t mind getting a better broom from James. 

“Sirius, dear, would you like more food?” Euphemia asks the age old question that Sirius never gets a chance to reply to. She fills up his plate again, beams at him, and tells him he’s much too thin. So Sirius eats all the food because he’s too grateful to say no to more, eats dessert, has more to drink, and feels rather breathlessly overfull by the time seven o’clock approaches, the time he said he’d call Remus back.

Sirius transforms into Padfoot on his walk down into Godric’s Hollow. There’s a light, warm rain coming down. Sirius drinks in the smells of the outside world: rain, dirt, trees, earth, life. All these things he had dreamed of while locked away in his bedroom. He transforms hidden behind the phone booth, and steps into it to push some muggle money into the box and listen for the operator.

He gets it sorted out easier than before, and feels an immediate relief at hearing Remus’s voice.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Sirius grins and swallows a strange lump in his throat that’s appeared just at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. It’s been sheer hours since they’ve last spoken. “So, hey, Prongs got made Quidditch captain!”

“Oh, lush, did he really? That’s wonderful. Hope Hyatt isn’t angry.”

“Nah, he’s a fair sport. I’ve got my O.W.L. results here if you’d like to compare.” Sirius takes the paper out of his pocket and unfolds it against the wall of the booth.

“Ahaha,” Remus says, “ _Yes._ How many did you get?”

“Seven. You?”

“Haha.” Remus repeats. Sirius misses him so bad that it hurts. “Nine.”

“Blast. You’re evil. Okay, let’s hear yours… I got an O in Astronomy.”

“E.”

“E in Charms…”

“O for me.” 

“O in Defense,” Sirius continues. They go back and forth, comparing results, and when they’ve finished, Sirius says: “I’m proud of you.” Remus is silent for a bit. Then, finally:

“Cheers, Pads. I’m proud of you too.”

“No, but _really._ With your mum… and just being a werewolf in general, I mean, that’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” Sirius can hear the smile in Remus’s voice as he replies genuinely:

“Thank you, Sirius. And I talked to my dad. He says that he’s very disappointed in your hotheaded behavior and the fact that you’ve done something that illegal, and that he’s also incredibly impressed. And you can come, but I guess that’s given. Can you come on the seventh of August?”

“Yeah, of course, for sure.” It’s about two weeks’ time, but Sirius can make do with phone calls. “I really love you, too, Moony, I do and I miss you and I can’t wait to see you. I think we should call more.” Sirius knows Remus is smiling.

“We should. I love you too. We’re so sappy. I don’t think we do well when we’re separated.” 

“I think you’re right. We should stick together, you and I. Much better that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so continues the longest & most exciting summer i've ever written. i love the upcoming chapters so so so much & i feel like they're a perfect lead-in to sixth year in which i love EVERY chapter i write so buckle up for the good-writing ride that i hope will take us through the end of this fic


	78. [HOLS '76] Amber Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! this is probably my favorite chapter i've written so far because i genuinely just love writing about remus's life in wales. i should just write a spinoff fic about it all because the summers/brief winters in wales are honestly my favorite parts to write ngl 
> 
> cw for sexual content

_ you’re an angel with an amber halo _

**s**

One and a half weeks with just Remus Lupin and no one else. Well, his dog and his dad. But they’re not invited to Sirius’s fantasy daydream: one where he and Remus spend nights tangled in bed, kissing and touching and happier than ever. 

They’ll spend the days outside, frolicking in the Welsh countryside. Remus will teach him how to ride a bike, Sirius will finally find his dreamy leather jacket and Dr. Martens boots waiting for him at a discounted price in a charity shop. They’ll eat wonderful Welsh things like very hard bread and sausages. It will rain, the sun will come out, they will be free and very much in love. And alive.

This daydream gets off to a bad start on a warm morning in Godric’s Hollow. 

Sirius had planned some dark, sexy outfit to ravish Remus in for the first time in months, but when he tugs on the Stooges shirt that had always been a bit too small for him (but in a very handsome, tight way), he finds that it doesn’t fit at all. Too tight at the shoulders, and protests out loud by means of creaky seams as he tries to pull it down over his stomach.

_ Over  _ his stomach? Sirius faces the mirror and then turns to the side, distinctly alarmed when he sees that he is not Sirius Black: Man of Straight Lines and Distinctly Undeniable Fitness and instead is Sirius Black, With A Belly.

“Jesus fucking  _ Christ, _ ” Sirius whispers, struggling out of the shirt and facing himself in the mirror, this time at a different angle, as though it will change anything. Sirius had assumed he was constantly bloated because of the force feeding (overfeeding, perhaps) put upon him by Euphemia, but he realizes that being constantly bloated might just be another term for gaining weight.

“Fuck.”

“Padfoot, are you ready to go?” James has flung the door open and Sirius momentarily thinks of cowering, then understands that cowering is the mark of someone insecure, and Sirius is most definitely  _ not  _ insecure. “Not wearing much, eh? Trying to impress Moony?”

“Do you think I’ve gotten fat?” As usual, Sirius’s mouth spits some words out before his brain can catch up. James laughs out loud.

“You’re funny, Pads, really.” Sirius holds up his treasured Stooges shirt.

“It doesn't fit anymore!” 

“So cast a spell on it! Come on, it’s not advanced Arithmancy or anything.” James takes the black shirt from Sirius’s hand, points his wand at it, and casts “ _ Engorgio”  _ as though that will do anything to help Sirius’s unyielding embarrassment. “There, try it now.” James hands the shirt back with a beam on his face, and Sirius pulls on the shirt, finding that it fits just fine. 

“Thanks,” he grumbles, smoothing the shirt down over the swell of his stomach. “I  _ have  _ gotten fat.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not the most handsome man in the world!” James ruffles Sirius’s hair, earning a laugh from him. “Don’t worry about it, Pads, my mum’s just overcompensating. You’re still sexy.”

“You always know what to say.” James winks at him. 

It’s only moments before Sirius is set to leave for Wales that James touches Sirius’s shoulder, pulls him aside rather hesitantly, and says:

“Take care, Padfoot, okay?” Sirius is confused. He’s just going to Remus’s. There’s not anything to be worried about, is there?

“For sure,” he tells James. “Of course.” James looks at him closely, his eyes bright behind the thick lenses of his glasses. 

“I love you, mate.” Sirius feels an odd weight in his throat.

“Love you too, Prongs.”

Fleamont is side-along apparating with Sirius because the Potters’ fireplace, for one reason or another, is currently off the network as it’s being set up for something regarding the Ministry. Neither Sirius or James ask, but it’s clear that there’s something important in the works, something that they’re too young to be involved in just yet.

Mold, Wales, early August, and of course it’s raining. Fleamont hugs Sirius goodbye, tells him to behave himself, and then twists away with a crack of apparition. Sirius is left by himself for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t like the feeling so much.

A watched Remus never grows, but when Sirius leaves him alone for a month, he seems to sprout up at least another five feet. Probably more. His gangliness is obscene. Remus is very tall when he opens the door, grinning wide enough to stretch the scars on his face, including a huge reddish brown slash over his nose and across his cheek that Sirius doesn’t take any time to look at because it simply doesn’t matter to him. 

Remus opens his arms in invitation for a hug (Sirius love, love, loves that he doesn’t reach in for a hug, lets Sirius come forward first), and then they hug, and Remus is  _ so  _ warm, and smells like cinnamon, spicy things, and warm wood, and books and the Woodbines cigarettes that Sirius has started smoking because they smell just like Remus. 

Then they kiss: on the lips, as Remus pulls Sirius through the doorway, making out as Sirius kicks the door shut, then Sirius nips at his neck, sucking a bit, Remus laughs, the sound hums through his throat, Sirius can’t keep his hands off of him, all he is is in love and attached and sucks gently at the scar on Remus’s jaw, that  _ damned  _ scar, and Remus drags his hands through Sirius’s hair, makes a wonderful noise that’s between a moan and a sigh, and then pulls away, holding Sirius at arm’s reach, as though checking to make sure he’s actually there.

“I missed you so much!” 

“I missed you too!” 

“Fuck- oof!” Sirius has thrown himself at Remus with renewed desire for affection, but it’s not kissing, this time, just standing with Remus’s arms around him, feeling so safe in that moment. 

“I’m so glad I’ve got you.” He says, muffled, into Remus’s chest. “I love you. I missed you so so so much.” 

“I missed you too, love.” Remus rocks Sirius back and forth in his arms, taking a deep breath of his hair. It’s a moment of peace. Then the kissing starts again. They stagger up the stairs to Remus’s bedroom (Sirius greets a happy looking Luke along the way), then another door is shut behind them as Remus moves hungry against Sirius, palming the front of his jeans, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

They undress in fast, hasty, motions of desperation.

Remus looks thinner, Sirius looks fatter, both of them have scars across their sides: Remus’s from himself, Sirius’s from Remus. Sirius’s scars start and end with the rippled pink gash across his ribs; Remus’s scars are too many to count. There’s more of them than ever, everywhere, painful red and pink, slashed and upraised, claw marks and blade marks alike. There’s a bandage wrapped around his lower leg and knee, and it is stained red with blood.

Sirius lays on the bed, Remus on top of him, his hand in between Sirius’s legs, his mouth moving, hand working, and there’s friction, sweaty skin, breathless kissing and moaning and coming. 

“I want you,” Sirius pants, speaking what’s on his mind and what he’s been thinking of for a long time, “Can we…?”

“Fuck?” Remus has rocked back on his heels, looking incredibly tousled and sexy.

“Yes. Please. I really really want you.” 

“Okay.” Remus hesitates. “Erm… have you done it before?”

“No. Have you?”

“Yes.” Sirius doesn’t want to know who Remus had his first time with. “But I was… on the bottom, you know.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Sirius hasn’t given much thought to positions. Remus scratches at his sweaty hair. “I mean… do you want to…. do you want to be on top? I don’t care, either way,” he adds, just to show that this is sex, what he wants, and how they do it doesn’t matter so much. 

“Sure, okay. I’ve never done it either, that way.”

“First time for everything.” Remus grins. It’s awkward at first, because sex is never picture perfect, wordless, and easy as pie. Sirius is aching with desperate desire, and when Remus’s fingers are replaced with his cock, Sirius has no idea what to do with himself.

He’s filled with indescribable, hot pleasure. Remus pushes all the way in and just breathes heavily for a few moments, not moving, head bent so far down that Sirius could have arched up to kiss him. Then Remus moves. Sirius is left at a loss.

It’s a good type of pain, one that makes Sirius want more and more, and Remus speeds up, finding a rhythm, movements growing faster and harder as they both grow closer and closer to a climax; the sex doesn’t last very long because they’ve both been desperate and neither can hold on too long, but Sirius is overwhelmed by wave after wave of bliss, happiness,  _ good,  _ and then the tidal wave: Sirius can’t see anything but Remus Lupin washed out in gold.

“Fuck, Pads,  _ fuck _ .” Remus is not eloquent as he pulls out, still panting for breath, arms shaky and collapsing down next to Sirius in bed. Sirius feels an aching loss where Remus had once been, another washing wave of happiness, an overwhelming sense of love. Sirius starts crying. He clings onto Remus’s sweaty, warm body, unable to believe how lucky he is. 

“Oh, no, Pads, what’s wrong? 

“Nothing, nothing…” 

“Sirius, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, no.” He gasps for breath, wiping his eyes, feeling Remus wrap his arms around him. “Sorry, it’s just a  _ lot.  _ It’s a lot.”

“Yeah… I know.” Remus pets Sirius’s hair as they lie in the sweaty afterglow of sex. They shower, together, afterwards and Sirius gets down on his knees while Remus laughs out loud and says he’s  _ too  _ horny, as if there’s any such thing, and Sirius gives an experienced blowjob and Remus stops laughing. 

Then they go for a walk with Luke in the fields. The sky is grey but the air balmy, warm and summery, and Sirius still feels like crying because he is alive, and Remus is by his side, and he’s very grateful. There’s no one around except the crickets chirping in the fields and Luke, running along badly worn paths, so Remus holds Sirius’s hand as they walk and Sirius thinks it again: I am alive and I am so grateful to be. 

“Hey, I’m going to buy a motorbike when I get back to Devon.”

“Are you?”

“I’m going to enchant it to fly. Good idea?”

“Best I’ve ever heard.” 

“Brill.” 

“It’s like, the world has said you’re not old enough to apparate, and so you find another way to get around. Nothing can get in your way. You’re unstoppable.” 

They buy packaged sandwiches from a shop on the way home, eat them in Remus’s back garden, and feed scraps to Luke. Their day is quiet but perfect. Remus helps himself to his dad’s alcohol stash and mixes them highballs to sip like adults in the back garden while the sun wavers closer and closer to the horizon. Sirius looks at Remus, sees his scarred face half in shadow, amber eyes staring off at the sky as he swishes the drink absentmindedly in his hand.

“Sirius, I’d like to go do something.” Remus says. “You don’t have to come, but you can.” 

“What is it?”

“Visiting my mum’s grave.” 

“Oh.” Remus clears his throat and finishes off the drink. Sirius watches his throat as he swallows. “Do you want to go alone?”

“Nah.” Remus is quiet for the rest of the evening. He gathers a bundle of wildflowers as they walk up towards the churchyard. The air has gone cold, devoid of humidity, and the sky is a bruised lavender. The fields and hills roll softly, the green of Wales lit up in a momentary purple as the sun sets. No one else is around. Crickets chirp, trees rustle. It’s perfectly peaceful.

Remus is out of breath and limping heavily by the time they reach the graveyard on top of the hill. It’s gated off, small, grass growing in between graves behind the small chapel. Sirius hangs back as Remus approaches a grave, reading the names on other headstones and watching Remus out of the corner of his eye.

Dusk has fallen now, and Remus is merely a figure drawn in shadows, and he places the flowers down on the grave. He sits down after a while. Sirius feels weird hanging about and finally approaches him. Remus doesn’t say anything. Sirius sits down next to him in the damp grass.

The headstone is very simple. Sirius realizes that it’s probably all that Remus’s family could afford. It reads: Hope Lupin - 1935-1976 - I’r heulwen

“What does that mean?” Sirius asks quietly. Remus glances over at him. His eyes are wet with tears.

“Into the sunshine,” He translates in a choked voice. “I’r heulwen.” Sirius loves when Remus speaks Welsh, and he wonders if it was him who chose the epitaph. 

“It’s beautiful.” Remus just nods. They sit there until it properly goes dark. There’s no lights in the graveyard and Sirius is worried about stepping directly on graves or tripping over headstones, but Remus holds his hand tight and leads him out. It drizzles very briefly as they walk back down the hill. When the rain stops, the streets are wet and reflect the orange glow of assorted streetlamps. 

Remus’s dad still isn’t home from work by the time they return. Remus isn’t in the mood for talking, and they go to bed soon after they get home. Sirius doesn’t wake up screaming or crying from nightmares. 

That’s one of the good days. Not all of them are. 

Sirius’s second day in Wales is not, by any means, one of Remus’s good days. It’s painful to see how his moods switch back and forth, like God is flicking a light switch inside his brain, picking and choosing which days he’ll be able to go for walks, and have sex, and laugh out loud, and which days he’ll be unable to leave the house because he’s anxious and depressed and hurting.

Sirius wakes up that morning from a nightmare. Sirius has many assorted varieties of nightmares and has started categorizing them: 1. Torture Nightmares 2. Dying nightmares 2a. Regulus dying nightmares 2b. Friends dying nightmares 3. Starving nightmares, so on and so forth.

Sirius gasps awake from a starving nightmare, a bad one, one where he hasn’t eaten in days, weeks, months, and there’s wards on his room, the door won’t open, the windows are sealed shut, he needs to get out, his stomach is eating itself, he’s going to die, this is it, he’s trapped and locked up in here forever and then he’s awake, in Remus’s warm bed, curled in the fetal position, with a growling stomach.

So Sirius slips out of Remus’s bed, pausing for a moment to look at him asleep among the soft blankets. Mouth a little ways open, hair all tousled, short sleeves of his oversized t-shirt unintentionally rolled up over his shoulders. Sirius looks at the thick, red cuts on Remus’s shoulders, knows that they are new and they need to talk about it, but doesn’t really want to. Not now, at least. Sirius looks at Remus and is very much in love with him.

Downstairs, Sirius is surprised to see Remus’s dad sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea. Lyall is a distinctly ghostlike figure in the Lupin household: quiet, unassuming, hardly ever there, and though it’s his house and he is technically the head of the household, Sirius is always taken aback to see him anywhere, doing anything at all.

“Oh, good morning Sirius.” Lyall says tiredly, as though he’s just seen Sirius yesterday, instead of not having seen him since last year. He has the Daily Prophet open in front of him, and is slowly sipping tea. He looks a lot like Remus, there.

“Hi, Mr. Lupin, how are you?” Lyall just shrugs. The family resemblance is uncanny. He’s silent for a while, just rustling the paper as Sirius pokes around in the drawers, feeling redundant panic rise in his chest as he’s unable to find any food. There’s tea, spices, flour, sugar, all sorts of things for creating food, but no such food itself. Maybe Sirius could bake something?

“Any plans for the day?” Sirius jumps when Lyall speaks again, since he’s forgotten that the other man was there at all, and turns around while trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, er, I dunno.”

“Try to get Remus out of his room, eh? I’m sure if anyone can do it, it’s you.” Sirius has no idea what he means. Lyall checks his watch, sighs with a very deep heaviness characteristic of his son, and stands up. “Off to work for me. Have a good day, Sirius.”

“You too.” 

Lyall floos away, and Sirius now gets to tear the kitchen apart in earnest, for there’s this anxiety mixing with the hunger in his stomach, an inane panic that says this is still part of his nightmare where he’s always hungry, always starving, and Sirius finds nothing to eat, wonders if the Lupins only survive on tea and that’s it. But, of course, there  _ is  _ tea, a verifiable load of it, and so Sirius calms himself down by making some. 

Tea will always work.

The warmth calms the worry in his stomach, and he makes Remus a cup just for something to do. Sirius balances the two clattering cups as he goes upstairs. Remus is awake when he returns, blowing smoke out of his window, turned away from Sirius.

“Good morning, Moony, my love!” Remus turns around with a cigarette loose between his lips. He’s put on a soft jumper all patched up and worn, but he’s just wearing his boxers, and Sirius wants to snog him into next week.

“Hi, Pads, you made tea!”

“Yes!” 

“Thank you.” Sirius approaches the bed with the wobbly teacups and holds one out for Remus. “You can drink it in bed, it’s okay.” Sirius loves the lack of rules in Remus’s house. Remus snuffs out the cigarette in an ashtray filled with butts, and presses his back against the windowsill as he sips the tea.

He smiles.

“You made it just the way I like.” 

“How?”

“No sugar, just honey.” Remus gives one of his gentle smiles and jerks his head, wordlessly inviting Sirius to come sit by him. So they sit side by side, playing footsie and then getting bored, drinking tea as the morning sun burns off the fog.

Sirius doesn’t do so well in silence. They finish their tea, Remus starts rolling up his own fags, and Sirius gets anxious. “Can we go to the shops?” 

“Hm?”

“Erm… you just don’t have anything to eat.”

“Oh.” Remus shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, there’s a Tesco in the downtown, if you want to go.” Well, it’s no fun to go alone.

“Come on, Moony, come with me! You’re making me go alone?”

“Can we go later?” Remus looks down at the empty teacup as though wishing there were more. “I’m just… tired, like.” Sirius doesn’t say anything. “I mean what, unless you’re really hungry?”

“I just want some food.”

“Then go get some.” Remus holds up his roll up to make sure it looks good and gives Sirius an angry expression that involves raised eyebrows as he waves his hand over the fag, lighting it through wandless magic.

Sirius leaves without him.

It’s on his way down the street that he runs into Remus’s friend Sion.

“Hallo, Sirius, mate, visiting Remus, are we? How are you? Looking good, butt!” Sion claps him on the shoulder in a show of overly friendly gestures and Sirius flinches thoughtlessly, glad that Sion either hadn’t noticed or doesn’t care enough; the other boy looks distracted in his own right and glances first up Remus’s drizzly street before turning his attention back to Sirius. 

Sirius doesn’t quite know how to reply. He’s surprised Sion even remembers him, as they only met once and it was a year and a half ago. 

“Hi, Sion, good to see you. Remus is home, I was just going to the shops, but he’s feeling a bit, er…”

“In one of his moods, is he?”

“He won’t even leave the house.” Sion falls silent, his face turning even more concerned as he once again glances down Remus’s street. He runs a hand back through his dark hair and then sighs.

“Well, listen. I know something that’ll cheer him right up, and I was on my way to go talk to him about it, but it doesn’t matter now because you’re here! Listen, you’ve heard of Knebworth Fair, haven’t you?” Sirius shakes his head. “No? Well, it’s a huge, massive, wonderful festival. And guess who’s playing this year? Big headliner? The Rolling Stones. I’m going up to Liverpool to camp out for tickets on Friday night. I was thinking I’d get one for Remus to surprise him. Do you want to come?”

“Yes, yeah, of course!” The Rolling Stones? Going to see them in  _ concert?  _ With Remus? It sounds like a dream. “It’s in Knebworth, though, how are you going?”

“My brother said he’ll drive. Road trip! Do you want to come camp, too? I don’t want to do it alone.” Sirius honestly has no idea what Sion means by camping out for tickets, but he thinks it can’t be  _ that  _ bad. A muggle adventure! 

“Sure, yeah, that sounds fun.”

“Okay, tickets will be about five quid each, I think, so bring enough to make sure you can buy ‘em. Come by mine tomorrow at about five, okay? Just lie to Remus, we want to keep him in the dark. Good lad, Sirius, this is going to be  _ such  _ fun.” Sion claps him on the shoulder again, Sirius manages not to flinch away, and the brown haired boy beams at him before turning down the street and walking home while whistling a jaunty tune.

Could be a Rolling Stones song. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also! i didn't write the scene of sirius & sion camping out for tickets together because it's not like... necessary but i might write a collection of associated one-shots for this fic because i WANT to write that scene so badly. lmk if you'd like to read it


	79. [HOLS '76] Born Again With Each Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez the pain of this chapter... shit gets emo. cw for depression and (thoughts of?) self harm but nothing graphic
> 
> these lyrics are from the song '100 years' by florence + the machine and honestly.... what a song. it would do you well to listen

_ i let him sleep and as he does, my held breath fills the room with love _

_ hurts in ways i can’t describe _

_ my heart bends and breaks so many, many times, and is born again with each sunrise _

_ and is born again with each sunrise _

**r**

“I made us lunch.” Remus had been lying with his back to the doorway, curled up in the covers, facing the wall, eyes closed. Maybe he’d wanted to fall asleep. He’s not sure. All he knows is that he’s very depressed and guilty for being rude to Sirius. Remus feels drenched: weighed down, soaked, like getting out of bed is one thing but walking all the way out the door is completely unattainable. 

He rolls over, as much as it hurts, and looks over at a blurry Sirius leaning against the doorframe. Sirius looks very handsome. Remus always thinks so. 

“What?”

“Lunch.” Sirius looks nervous, which is something rather uncharacteristic for him, and Remus is sad to realize that it’s his own fault, and Sirius is on edge because Remus had snapped at him earlier, and now has made him lunch to make up for it. It’s amazing, the many ways in which Sirius Black works. “Unless you don’t want any.”

“Of course I want some.” Remus says this but still finds himself in a generally precarious position where sitting up hurts (a  _ lot _ , he might add), and going downstairs will invariably hurt even more. “What did you make?”

“Omelettes.” Of course. Sirius is still watching from the doorway, leaning against it, which Remus would be grateful for because it makes his hair hang at an angle, cocks his hips, and generally makes him look very handsome. Except Remus can’t get up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Remus makes an effort, now. His lungs feel rather crinkly as they breathe, as though they are made out of paper, and every breath inflates them but also puts them at great risk of tearing. “Uugh, ouch.”

“You’re hurt?”

“My lungs hurt.” Remus thinks that the remedy for this may be smoking another fag, since that’s the way he’s been solving his problems ever since that first unfiltered cigarette Stanley gave him. “And everything else,” he adds as Sirius raises an eyebrow. He holds his arms out like Frankenstein and asks for help up. Sirius obliges. 

He’s grown since Remus has last seen him, not taller (Sirius will always be shorter than Remus and it’s both a laugh and rather enjoyable), but wider, in a way, and he’s very full and strong and there, and Remus wraps an arm around his waist as they descend the stairs.

The omelettes are lovely. Remus washes up after they eat, and inspects the kitchen to find that Sirius has done  _ plenty  _ of shopping, in fact, more shopping than Remus would have liked. This is bound to be an issue, as Lyall is oddly proud and will probably not take kindly to the fact that his houseguest has done the groceries for him because he doesn’t have the money to.

“Trying to make it more like the Potters’ here, eh?” Remus asks because he, too, is a bit defensive about the state of the house. Sirius is petting Luke, talking to him in a babying voice and stroking his silky ears, and looks up to where Remus is standing at the sink, now turned around, looking right at him. 

The Potters have a separate room for their dining table. Remus’s table is right in the kitchen, bridging the divide between kitchen and living room. It’s a difference.

Sirius says “There’s nothing wrong with having food in the house,” and he’s right, of course he’s right, but the underlying issue is  _ why  _ there’s no food in the house.

“My dad’s going to be angry,” Remus confesses, stupidly, because he’s starting another fight and doesn’t know why. “Because he’s defensive that he can’t buy his own food.” Sirius just shrugs.

“He shouldn’t complain. You’re letting me stay, and I’ve stayed before, so I might as well pitch in somehow.”

“He’s proud.”

“And so are you.” Remus doesn’t like thinking about that and so doesn’t reply. “Come on, Moony, it’s just some food, it’s just lunch. It’s fine!”

“I know, Pads, and thank you for it.” And now, Remus is left feeling like he owes Sirius something because he  _ does  _ owe him, he’s invited him to his house for the summer and is proving too depressed to even leave the house; because his body aches, his limp is back and worse than ever, and there’s a writhing knot of anxiety in his stomach that says he should just stay inside, doesn’t ask but begs.

“Here, I’m going to smoke a joint and then do you want to go into town?”

“Yes!” They share a joint in the back garden. Remus remembers winters past, when Sirius had visited, when his mum had still been alive. They’d sat in the moon stained garden in wrought iron chairs dripping with winter rain, not talking, just smoking cigarettes and enjoying the company. This is a parallel of that scene, but brighter: weed instead of tobacco, and there’s grass growing up through the legs of the chairs. 

Remus doesn’t smoke enough to get properly stoned, where all he does is giggle, talk up a storm, and want to dance, although he wouldn’t mind it. Maybe later. The weed softens his aches and pains, and all but eliminates the anxiety in his chest that makes him feel shaky, overly alert, and ill. 

They go into town and the day is brighter. Sirius swings his hand as they walk down, drops it once there’s other people around, gives Remus a hesitant look so uncharacteristic of him, a look that Remus doesn’t address. It is a warm day, one of those days that Remus experiences, complains about through letters, and is never listened to.

No one seems to believe that Wales has the capability of being  _ hot.  _ Or that the sun can come out. When Remus comes back to Hogwarts after the summer and is tan, it is apparently chalked up to him using lotion or going to a tanning salon. Remus does no such thing. The sun, as it happens, often comes out in the summertime, as it has today, and Remus is already feeling itchy and uncomfortable in his too-warm jumper.

While weed reduces his sentiments towards some things (anxiety, depression, his right leg not working properly), it makes him hyper aware of others, like the scratchy material of his jumper against fresh cuts (fresh _ ish,  _ he hasn’t cut since Sirius has been here but hasn’t magically healed the wounds either). Remus tells Sirius to stop walking, and removes said scratchy jumper. It messes up his hair, gets static all over himself and the t-shirt underneath, and he feels a bit insecure first about how pale his arms are and second about how scarred they are.

Sirius is staring at him with a very stupid smile on his face, bordering on a grin, and Remus throws his jumper at him in an attempt to that that lovesick look off of his face.

“I’m keeping this forever, Moony.” Sirius hugs the jumper to his chest and gives it a mighty sniff.

“Suit yourself.”

“Your jumpers are the stuff of legend, you know. Remember second year when you and Marlene got into a row about your jumper?” Remus has no idea what he’s talking about and why, at all, Sirius has remembered this.

“What?”

“She was like, ‘Ooh, Remus, your jumper is  _ so  _ soft,’ and it was her  _ birthday,  _ and you were like,” Sirius adopts a gruff, hoarse and very grouchy voice, “‘Aaarghghh, Marlene, my jumper is not soft, it’s hard and evil and bad, just like me, and also I hate you, so fuck off, you’re awful’, and then you went and ran away. And I think we brewed Polyjuice after that, just for kicks. We were so  _ passionate  _ as little kids.” 

Remus remembers this, now.

“I was a very sad little kid.”

“Don’t think you’ve changed so much.”

“Mm.”

“At least you’re nice, now. Fourth year was tough.” Remus glances up at Sirius. “I mean, it brought us together, didn’t it? I was your person. I was one of the few who never got his arse beat or his nose broken!”

“You’re  _ still  _ my person, Pads. You’ve always been my person.” Sirius grins, very wide, very handsome, all toothy and white,  _ god  _ is he handsome, and then-

“Remus, love, you’re back!” Remus passes a hand over his face to hopefully instill some calm in his chest, and turns to see Mrs. Davies, his former boss’s wife, sitting at her fruit cart by the side of the road. She beams at him. “Come here, who’s this, your friend? Would you like a peach?” Reluctantly, Remus approaches.

“Hiya, Mrs. Davies, how are you?”

“Doing very well!” She stands up, which does not do much to change her height, and gives him a very big hug. “I was very sorry to hear about your mum, love. You’re alright, now, I’m sure. Good strong lad.”

“Thanks, yeah, I’ve been okay. This is Sirius, my friend from school.” 

“Hello!” Sirius says very charismatically. 

“Serious?” Mrs. Davies asks. 

“Sirius,” he tells her, enunciating the Is, “it’s a constellation.”

“Ah, how  _ new age _ !” She exclaims. “Very interesting names, the two of you have.” They spend a few very long minutes indulging Mrs. Davies, who gives them a few peaches for free, and tells them she’d love to see them again. Then they continue back into the village, biting into the soft skin of the peaches. Sirius gets juice all over his chin, wipes his face on Remus’s jumper because apparently it’s his now.

A park bench, two tender red pink orange peaches soft and sweet on their tongues, listening to birds chirp, thinking that this is summertime perfection. Sirius asks Remus where he’d like to move, in the future, you know, just casually, just in case and Remus doesn’t ask in case of  _ what,  _ because he’d always been planning on spending the future with Sirius.

“A city, but not London,” Remus explains.

“No, never London. I hate London.”

“Fuck London.” 

“Cheers to that.”

“I’d like to stay in Wales, to be honest. I love it here.” Remus pauses, sucking at the juice settled on the pulp of the peach. “Cardiff, maybe?” Sirius is quietly thoughtful. “Dunno, though. I won’t have the money for it.” Sirius runs his teeth around the edge of the pit. Then he says something somewhat surprising.

“I’m loaded, Moony. We can live anywhere we want.”

“What do you mean anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” Sirius says simply. “Cardiff, if you want, but we could afford Oxford. London, Winchester, Cambridge, Remus, anywhere. We could go to the continent, too, if you’d like. Vienna, Paris, Barcelona, wherever. Anywhere in the world.” 

Remus notes the  _ we  _ that Sirius uses instead of  _ I,  _ and fancies that he rather likes it. 

“Maybe we should stay here, for now. U.K, like.”

“Sure, of course.” Sirius finishes his peach and holds the pit in both hands, rolling it back and forth. “Not forever, though. I’m going to go, one day. I won’t live here forever. I want to go west.” Remus believes him. “I wouldn’t mind leaving it all behind, you know. Starting over. As long as I’ve got you.” Remus nods but doesn’t reply. He isn’t sure if he could leave his life behind.

In the evening, Sirius finds a charity shop and stumbles upon both a well worn leather jacket that looks like oil and smells like cigar smoke and a pair of Doc Martens that are a bit too big for him but make loud sounds when he stomps around in them, and he laughs out loud as they walk home, holding his battered old boots in one hand and Remus’s hand in the other. 

They pass by Mrs. Davies’s cart on the way back except one of her daughters is minding it, Gracie, and Sirius flirts so shamelessly with her that she’s regarded speechless and sweating by the time she finishes the transaction with Remus, who’d only wanted to purchase a few tomatoes and fresh eggs. 

Remus makes dinner for them, because he’s feeling more like a real person thanks to the weed, and the walk, and the talk of concrete things in the future. He turns the tomatoes into a sauce, and makes them pasta, and it’s very simple but better than what Sirius could have conglomerated. Remus sticks the leftovers in the fridge for his dad, and then him and Sirius smoke some more weed in the garden as the sun sets. 

Barefoot in the grass, laughing as they talk, feeling super natural and good. It’s a simple, easy kind of good. In his room, later, Remus tunes up his favorite radio station and they’re playing Bowie. Rebel, Rebel. Much too fitting, as though they’d known Sirius was waiting for his song to be played. He puts on his new jacket and his boots and pretends to be Bowie himself, just a lot more punk and a lot less coordinated, shouting the words, jumping up and down, very sexy and fun and Sirius Black.

_ You’ve got your mother in a whirl, she’s not sure if you’re a boy or a girl _

_ Hey babe, your hair’s alright, hey babe, let’s go out tonight _

_ You like me and I like it all  _

_ We like dancing and we look divine _

Sirius emphasizes “divine,” the way he emphasized every word out of his mouth on his last birthday, when he’d been singing to The Kinks and Remus had been just as high, glued to the couch and mesmerized. 

They have a good evening and a worse night.

Remus has this new nighttime routine that doesn’t have to do with self harm, just self hate, just depression and  _ wishing  _ it were self harm. Remus had been right back at it again as soon as school had let out for the summer; Sirius had been unreachable and abused at Grimmauld, Sion is wonderful but not nearly sensitive enough, and the moon had been torture.

The wolf had been agonized at being left alone again after a year of being comforted by the company of his three friends. Moony had been very angry after all.

Remus had woken up choking on broken teeth, sobbing. He’d dislocated his right leg, the one he’d broken once, broken again and then walked on  _ while  _ broken all summer long. A bloody gash across his face, the taste of his own blood in his mouth. Lyall had been late for work because he spent the whole morning cleaning Remus up. 

He’d been sure to remind Remus of this over and over.

When Sirius arrives, Remus quits the cutting because he’s got his Padfoot back, and that’s a comfort, but the hurting addiction is less than. So Remus brushes his teeth in the same bathroom as Sirius, making faces at themselves in the mirror as they foam at the mouth. Remus does exercises on his leg, because it gets stiff in the night and he’ll wake up nearly unable to walk on it, and then he’ll rub this magical lotion Marlene had sent him all over the new cuts and scars, hoping maybe they won’t scar so bad this time.

No such luck. Not ever, not really.

A few nights after August’s full moon, (one filled with incredible relief and no scars to show for it) Remus lies awake in tears. Tonight, he feels dangerous. It’s the only word that can accurately place the things he’s feeling. There’s no real rational thought in his head- it’s mostly thoughts of how long it’s been since he’s sliced a blade through his skin and he  _ aches  _ for it, wants it so bad that he’s crying. 

An addict desperate for a fix. 

Sirius is lying next to him, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair spilled out on the pillow behind him, long eyelashes drawn over his closed eyelids. Not awake to entertain Remus.

So Remus lies in bed with absolutely no way to distract himself, wondering if he could think about cutting enough to  _ manifest  _ the pain, but that won’t work, nothing will work, he’s been doing this to himself for years and it’s never going to get better, not ever, he’ll always be subject to the temptation of something sharp, something digging deep into his skin, something physically painful that takes away mental pain. 

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. _

Remus rolls over in bed, scratching hard at old scars on his arm, digging his nails deeper than they should go, pressing a little harder, breaking the skin, letting out a quiet sigh in relief and then Sirius shifts in bed, reaching out, touching Remus, opening his eyes.

It’s magical, how well they seem to know each other.

“Moony?”

Remus draws his hand away from his arm guiltily and pulling away from Sirius, his back pressed against the wall. 

“Hiya,” Remus whispers.

“Hi.” Sirius says. “You okay?” Remus realizes there are tears in his eyes and understands that he is not okay.

“Do you mind,” Remus begins in a shaky voice that breaks over his next words, “If I have a cry?” Sirius’s face contorts into something soft and understanding. An expression that not many people ever get to see.

“Of course not, Moony.” Remus finally lets the hot, fat tears dribble down his face and his chest aches with those unshed tears that are finally making their debut. “Hey,” Sirius says in a voice of comfort. “I’m here. You’re okay.” Sirius pulls him back towards him and Remus moves into the embrace, tucking his head under Sirius’s chin, against his chest, curls up into him and cries while Sirius traces comforting circles in his hair.

He doesn’t make Remus feel ashamed. These feelings have been bearing down on Remus ever since his mum’s death, and he’d arrived back at school stoic and pretending that nothing wrong had happened. There’s no shame in hurting, Lily told him. There’s nothing wrong in asking for help, James had reassured. 

So why does he feel obliged to keep his emotions under wraps? Third year was spent cutting himself into pieces and getting everyone worried that he was starving himself or on the verge of suicide. Fourth year: he’d broken everyone’s trust with his fiery, unreadable anger. Hexed enough people to give himself endless detentions, beaten up others just for the bloody  _ sake  _ of it.

He’s spent two years unstable and wild, depressed and angry and so heartbroken about the state of his life. And fifth year? No one got to look inside. No one got to know how Remus Lupin was feeling. No one except for Sirius, who’s never once had a big blowup for others to see. Sirius always keeps his emotions dutifully in check. Remus has never once in his life seen Sirius cry (except that one time, after sex, but that doesn’t count). 

Maybe that’s another part of the shame: the fact that Remus knows Sirius has his fair share of bad things happening in his life and seems to be quite capable of dealing with it on his own. He’d been kicked out of his house (or he had left, maybe, Remus doesn’t know, because they haven’t  _ talked  _ about it), disowned from his own family, and  _ he’s  _ the one comforting Remus. How can he be so calm? How can he be so  _ sane? _

“Sirius,” Remus stutters out through his tears, wondering if there will ever be an end to his pain, “Why are things so fucking difficult?” Sirius sighs sadly. 

“I don’t know, Moony. I know that you don’t deserve this, though.” Remus moves closer into him, craving his touch, and Sirius hugs him back with all the warmth and good in the world. The tears taper off and they’re left curled up together like an ampersand. 

“I can’t stop thinking about cutting myself, and I don’t know what to do about it.” Sirius is quiet.

“I saw… I was wanting to talk to you about it, actually. I know you’ve been doing it again.” Remus holds his breath. “I’m not angry, Moons, it’s… it’s not  _ okay _ , but it’s, I’m not angry, or disappointed, or whatever. Just tell me, Remus, when you want to? I know you haven’t been able to talk to me when I was at Grimmauld, and it’s awkward, or whatever, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, so all you have to do is tell me.”

“Or… listen, you don’t even have to be like ‘Hey, Sirius, I want to cut myself,’ though you  _ can,  _ but it’s a bit bleak, isn’t it? You can just say you want to do something, anything. Ask to have a shag, or a fag, or go for a walk, or a ride, or anywhere at all. I’m here for you.” Sirius doesn’t go on listing everyone else who’s here for him as well, which Remus is grateful for. That’s a downfall of talking to James. 

“I just feel so fucking weak,” Remus mutters, “I’ll go months without it, I’ll be fine, it’ll be all okay, and then one day I give up and relapse and I’m back to square one.”

“Moony, that’s not how recovery works.” Sirius’s voice is still gentle. “It’s not like everything is erased if you relapse. Getting better isn’t a straight line, love. All ups and downs.”

“I just wish I’d never started. I wish we could turn back time.”

“Maybe if we ask Dumbledore nicely.” Remus laughs softly. “And, Moons, I really love you.”

Remus closes his eyes and feels his heart break again and again and again, knowing one day he’ll lose Sirius too and that’s another person he loves gone. He’s never felt this way about another person- not Sion, not even Marlene. It feels as though his heart will fracture from all the love he feels for Sirius, and he thinks that in the darkness of the bedroom, this is all they’ll ever be.

“I love you too.” Remus tells him, voice muffled as he buries his face in Sirius’s chest. The other boy shifts positions, pulling Remus into a messy hug that is the catalyst in Remus realizing that Sirius is crying too- his face wet with tears and when they finally return to their original positions- lying face to face, all they can do is stare at each other.

Remus sees Sirius’s eyes colorless in that light: an eerie grey untouched by sunlight. Thick black hair, still growing back out to its original length, choppy around his jaw. He looks like Remus has never seen him- vulnerable, starry eyed, in love. 

Sirius cries when he tells his story. He starts slow, and the words pick up, and Remus listens, doesn’t pity him, just respects him. Remus listens to tales of abuse and torture, to stories of real life woven into nightmares, to horror. 

Sirius says he’s never told anyone before, not ever, not even James, that it hurts very badly to think about and talk about, but now it feels a lot like relief that he’s told someone. He gets his words out through sobs. He says it’s been the worst and best summer of his life all at once, and that he’s scared of the future, and he’d like to freeze time right where it is but he’d also like to heal and recovering takes time.

Remus takes this to mean that they’ll spend the future together. Many mornings talking in bed until sunrise. Dawn. Start of a new day. They’ll do it all again, but a little better this time, a little brighter. Progress.


	80. [HOLS '76] It Never Goes Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg a title reference!!! this chapter is the love of my life, my one and only. i hope you didn't think i would let talk of knebworth fair disappear without me bringing it back up.
> 
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGKIX2_ViF8&ab_channel=JonasT-H) is the iconic performance of free bird that you'll hear about further down. (skip thru the vid for the best guitar solos) sorry i'm literally obsessed with classic rock but you know what? it adds character.

_ take me out tonight, where there’s music and there’s people and they’re young and alive _

_ driving in your car, i never ever want to go home, because i haven’t got one anymore _

**m**

Mary MacDonald is fed up.

She’s been walking by the side of this road for  _ ages _ , all dressed up with her makeup done, watching hippie after hippie drive by, blasting the Stones at top volume, leaving traceable whiffs of weed in their wake. Lily is a good enough companion to be trudging along with, since she’s brought water and snacks, has worn sensible shoes, and doesn’t complain much, but Mary is hot, tired, and ready to give up, and they haven’t reached the fair yet.

Sirius had called her up the week before with a grin in his voice, explaining that he’d run away from home and bought them tickets to Knebworth Fair, which is completely within the ordinary realm of Things That Sirius Black Does Over The Summer. Apparently, Remus’s mate’s brother is driving them down from Wales, and it’s bound to be right fun, and he got her an extra ticket because he knows, as he always seems to know, that Lily is staying with her.

Of course Mary had said yes. Who doesn’t want to see The Rolling Stones? Lily, too, had agreed, and seemed to be intensely relieved that James Potter wouldn’t be there. It seems that their groups have paired off this year: James, Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas are attending the Quidditch World Cup while Remus, Sirius, Mary, and Lily are going to a huge muggle concert. 

“Remind me why we’re walking?” Lily asks from behind. She’s panting, which makes Mary feel a bit better. 

“Because we don’t know anyone with a car. We should have gotten Remus’s friend to pick us up, too. This is disgraceful. I’m so tired. You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m thumbing it.” 

“Mary,  _ no _ !” Lily’s gasp is too late for Mary’s actions; turning around to grin at Lily while sticking her thumb out, clear as day for the groups of hippie vans driving by to see. It takes about all of five minutes for a VW Campervan painted with fish all over it to pull over by the side of the road. Loud rock music is blasting from inside. 

Mary runs up to the window and pokes her head in, grinning widely at the passenger staring back at her: a handsome looking bloke wearing round sunglasses and a gap toothed grin.

“Hello, fancy giving us a ride up to the festival?”

“Jump in!” The driver shouts. They do. The driver’s name is David, the passenger is Alex, who’s tripping on acid so best to leave him alone. There’s two girls in the back, one named Florence and the other Tessa. The drive up is much shorter now that they’re in a car, and Lily chats quietly with Florence while David talks to Mary about music, something that she considers herself quite adept at making conversation about.

The road turns to dirt and grass under the tires of the campervan, and they bump along down the road as Alex holds his hands out in front of them, saying they’re turning different colors and it’s all so incredibly beautiful, he starts crying while Mary pats his shoulder in some attempt at comfort. 

“D’you want some lucy, love?” Mary glances back at Lily, first, very instinctively even though she knows what the answer will be.

“Yes, please.” Lily doesn’t hear, she’s talking to Florence, and David passes a bit of aluminium foil back to Mary. 

“There’s a few doses in there, mind, don’t take ‘em all at once.”

“Cheers. Should I pay you?”

“Nah, not at all.” 

“Thanks so much!” Traffic slows down as they enter a roped off area of grass that substitutes as a car park. David turns down the farthest path, trying to get away from the other cars but evidently leading him to have the longest walk back to the crowds and stage. As they drive through rows of cars, Mary spots two very familiar looking faces leaning against the back of a truck.

“Oh, wait, hold on, we just passed our friends!” Mary shouts, tapping wildly at the glass. The van screeches to a halt. Mary turns around to look at Lily, who has been gifted a floral crown and is smiling in a rather shy way. 

“Where were they?” David asks, turning around in his seat to glance backwards. 

“Few cars back, we can walk, it’s no trouble.” David just tuts, and puts the van in reverse, driving backwards while Lily laughs nervously. “Oh, here!” Mary calls. And by god, it  _ is _ her friends. Remus, Sirius, and Remus’s friend, all leaning against the back of a truck, smoking. Sirius looks very good, full and healthy, and is sporting a pair of Doc Martens that Mary counts herself excited about. 

He’s standing in between Remus and Remus’s friend, tilting his head back and forth to listen to each boy talk. Remus’s friend hands his cigarette to Sirius, who takes a drag, who hands it to Remus. Remus who has a huge, red and brown slash clean across his face. 

“See you around!” Florence, the girl who gave Lily a flower crown calls, waving at them as Lily opens the door of the van. 

“Bye! Thanks so much for the ride! Have fun!” Mary tells them as she gathers her bags and steps out of the van.

“Bye!” Lily calls as she follows Mary out of the van. They tumble out onto the green grass, watching as Tessa leans forwards to slide the door shut, giving them a wide smile as David first drives backwards in reverse, and then, figuring it out, puts the car back into drive and bumbles off down the grassy hill.

“Mary!” Mary turns and Sirius is there, giving her a big hug, and she hugs him back very tightly, glad to see him again.

“Hey, Sirius!” He pulls back, grinning at Lily, who’s greeting Remus.

“Hiya, Lily!” Lily gives him a weak smile, instead directing her attention to Remus's friend: a very good looking bloke with dark brown hair, rather shorter than Remus or Sirius’s, and a sly but friendly smile. 

“I’m Sion,” he tells them, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lily,” Lily introduces, “And this is Mary.”

“Hi!” Mary gives him a great big smile, which he attempts to return in earnest. “Hey, Remus.” Remus gives her one of those fabled gentle grins, tells her hello, and holds out the cigarette by means of connection. 

Sirius looks most rock and roll out of the three of them. He’s wearing dark blue, torn jeans that are much tighter than current fashion boasts, a Rolling Stones shirt with the tongue logo bright and red on it, and his heavy Doc Martens boots. Remus looks much grungier, wearing a flannel shirt with a few buttons undone down his chest, and Sion looks very ordinary: a tight green t-shirt and blue jeans. 

Mary takes a drag on Remus’s cigarette, glances around at the four of them, and grins. 

“Are you lot up for some music?”

**r**

They spend much of the day getting high.

Remus and Sion had brought many, many pre rolled joints, and Mary gives them each a tab of acid wrapped in tinfoil; she wears this eager grin on her face as her and Lily let them dissolve on their tongues, then spending an hour lying down on a blanket Mary had brought in the sunshine, despite the fact that the heat is nearly unbearable and there is live music taking place down on the stage. 

Remus and Sirius opt to take the tabs later. They don’t discuss it with each other, but Remus understands that both of them are a little wary about where their minds might go if left uninhibited. 

The crowd at Knebworth is enormous. It stretches all around the massive stage, people with faces and bodies turning into blurs of color as they grow farther away from where Remus, Sirius, Mary, Lily, and Sion are seated. Mary and Lily had brought camping gear; Sion is going to find his brother Owen once the night is over to get a ride home with him.

Owen, as it happens, had not driven them down from Wales. Remus had driven them down from Wales. 

It had started with Remus arguing with his father, something that the two of them don’t do so often anymore but are quite good at when the time comes, as they have mastered the art of useless squabbling and not knowing how to compromise. It had been another argument regarding transportation, much like the one that had taken place before Remus had found himself a bicycle to ride, although this one had more to do with driving than biking.

“I’m old enough!” Remus had protested. “I’m sixteen!”

“You have to be  _ seventeen. _ ”

“I can get my provisional at sixteen! We are in  _ Wales!  _ I can drive a car! No one is going to stop me!”

“Whose car?” Lyall protested, waving his arms wildly. “Do you see a car here? Do we own a car? We are wizards, Remus! Wizards don’t drive!”

“ _ You’re _ a wizard,” Remus had snapped back in a childish way, “ _ I’m  _ only halfway wizard. In fact, I’m half wizard, half muggle, half werewolf.”

“That’s not how halves work! You should have taken Arithmancy like I told you!” And so on, so forth, until Remus had gone out and gotten his provisional license without help or permission from his father, and had then asked Mrs. Davies to borrow her family’s car, which she had naively agreed to, and here they are, in Hertfordshire, high as kites and waiting for the headliners to come on.

Mary and Lily had wandered away to find toilets to be sick in, and have now returned. Both of them are talking nonstop about the spirals under their skin.

“Are you two alright?” Sion asks. He, too, had taken a tab and has been lying in the same spot for hours on end, finally managing to sit up and talk to Mary and Lily. “Were you ill?”

“I threw up,” Lily confesses. “But it made everything better. Spirals in the vomit. Amazing stuff. Spirals everywhere.” Sion nods at her, looks at Remus and Sirius, smiles, and lays back down. 

“Remus, come here.” Mary pulls him towards her with a little bit of force and a lot of enthusiasm, and then lifts his arm up. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and has undone about half the buttons as the day has worn on and the heat has persisted, and now watches as Mary rolls up his sleeve and holds his arm up to examine closely. 

“The scars, Remus, they’re  _ moving.  _ Oh my god. Lily, come here.” Lily had been braiding Sirius’s hair but quickly abandons the activity to stare at Remus’s arm, which is making him feel distinctly uncomfortable; he has never found anything aesthetically pleasing about his scars and keeps them hidden for the fact that other people seem to find them disgusting, offensive, and hard to look at.

“Holy  _ Christ!” _ Lily grabs his arm and Remus feels his chest tighten with anxiety as the girls run their fingers over the thick scars on his arm, poking them, touching them, gasping as they see something that he can’t. Then, alarmingly, Lily starts crying. “Remus- it’s so  _ beautiful!  _ There’s so much life, there’s  _ so  _ much life, under your skin, in it, there’s fractals, and it’s so beautiful,  _ fuck,  _ I wish you could see this…” 

“What’s going on with Remus?” Sion has sat up again, removes his sunglasses and looks over at Remus whose arm is being held and rather caressed by Mary and Lily.

“His scars are all moving around.” Mary tells him. Lily is still crying. 

Remus is more grateful than anything when a band walks onto the stage and some cheers go up for them. Mary, Lily, and Sion are all now fascinated by the band, and Remus takes his arm back with a deep exhale of breath, rolling down his sleeve and moving to the other side of the blanket, where Sirius is.

The band has launched into some fast, loud rock song that Sirius is already nodding along to, looking quite interested. None of them speak for a while, thankfully, just listen to the music. They’re reaching the end of their set before Mary finally asks:

“So who’s this?” 

“Lynyrd Skynyrd, apparently.” Remus frowns up at the stage. “Never heard of them.”

“Americans,” Mary adds. “Quite alright.” Remus doesn’t find himself bored, at first, just a bit indifferent, but he listens patiently. His arm is wrapped around Sirius’s shoulders, who sways back and forth as a new song plays. It’s sort of basic: guitars, piano, slow vocals with lines that Sirius apparently enjoys. 

“I’m as free as a bird,” he sings along gently. The guitarist has a slide on the fingers of one hand, and a cigarette clenched in the other. Remus admires him. Banners and flags wave above the hazy, sprawling crowd. Remus sees people standing up or else lying down, knees bent in front of them, heads on people’s stomachs, others stepping between them, careful not to step on them; and girls swaying on guys’ shoulders, people sitting, standing, swaying, headbanging, more and more and more of them, everywhere and all over. The music picks up and Sirius starts clapping his hands together in time, grinning widely as it becomes much more rock and roll, and then Remus’s favorite thing happens: a guitar solo picks up.

Remus thinks he’s very, very high because he thinks that an orgasm and a guitar solo are one and the same, and there’s specific ones that have made him feel that jaw dropping, gut wrenching  _ happy,  _ that feeling that makes it want to last over and over, that jerking repetition when the solo repeats the same electric notes again and again, like in ‘Maggot Brain,’ by Funkadelic or ‘All Along the Watchtower’, as typical as it may be. Free Bird now falls into that category. Remus should make a list of them.

Two guitarists have stepped out onto the tongue of the stage. One is wearing all red, and has very long, frizzy brown hair that he tosses back as he pulls strings: flashy grin on his face as the solo roars out. It is the fastest, most awe inspiring, incredibly talented riff that Remus has ever heard in his entire life. The whole band is rocking down onto the tongue, jumping and playing, whirling with their guitars and all around  _ music, Christ,  _ Remus will never forget this.

People around them are jumping, dancing, clapping, celebrating in the joy and energy that music brings; all of them are high and being taken somewhere else, because music just sounds  _ better  _ when you’re high, especially music like this. The sound picks up. 

Even faster, even higher, even heavier: Sirius is dancing, now clapping his arms above his head as he moves back and forth, tossing his long hair, just like the lead guitarist on stage, a red blur jumping up and down on stage, stomping both feet on the stage every time he jumps, his fingers still shredding out the insanely fast and sharp guitar.

It is frantic, and wild, and beautiful and apparently never ending. Remus closes his eyes and completely succumbs to the music, lets it wash over him; the cheers, the heat, the heaviness of smoke in the air, Sirius’s quickly moving body next to his… The song trails off to a stop, piano and drums thrashing to end out the number. 

The song picks up one last time, as a standing ovation is given to the band, and Remus claps and whistles as loud as anyone, as the guitarist holds his guitar next to his head and tears out the final notes. And then, the drums crash out, and it’s all over. 

“Can’t wait for the Stones,” Sion mumbles stupidly, as though he has not just witnessed history being made. The rest of the day is very long and very hot. Remus and Sirius go find some food, which consists of fish paste sandwiches and cups of tea bought for 50p. The two of them don’t walk around much, as the crowd is vast and Remus doesn’t want to leave their three comrades to sit and go crazy alone.

“How do you fancy those tabs?” Sirius is asking as he takes a bite of his fish paste sandwich, of course makes a face, and tries to remedy the taste with some of the tea that tastes like styrofoam as the cup is melting into the drink. 

“Well, they seem like they’ve having fun.” Remus drinks his tea first and then sets to work on the sandwich, feeling incredibly British all over, which is disgusting to him as he is, indeed, from Wales. “But I’m a bit worried.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll take mine later.”

“Aye, same. It does seem  _ fun,  _ though, of course, I mean the spirals and fractals and everything. Crying over my scars. Might fall in love with myself, if I took them, and we can’t have that, especially not from you. The world would explode. Rebel. Bad things would happen if you got any more ego.”

“Come on!” Sirius grins at him, though. “My confidence is sexy.”

“Who’s told you that?”

“James.” Remus laughs out loud, finishes off the sandwich, and licks fish paste from his fingers. 

“Argh, I wish we had more food.” 

“Lily’s probably brought snacks, you’ve got to love her.” They’ve been stepping between groups of people sitting around on the grass and now start making their way back towards the blanket where their three friends are sprawled. 

Two, now.

“Where’s Sion gone?” Remus asks as he sits down next to Lily, who descends into giggles at the rhyme, muttering “Sion” and “gone” to herself. 

“Off with a bloke he met, they seemed to be getting along.” Mary explains. “Speaking of  _ blokes,  _ Sirius, I’ve been wondering for quite a while now, are you queer?” Lily keeps giggling. Sirius is lying on his stomach, picking at the edges of a joint, and now looks up looking rather underwhelmed by the question, as though it is something he’d been expecting to hear for a while now, and Remus doesn’t blame him, and Sirius flicks his hair out of his face, lights the zoot with a wave of his hand as though forgetting that they’re completely surrounded by muggles, and says:

“Yes, I am, is that alright with you Mary?”

“Oh, quite.” Mary smiles very warmly at him. “I was just wondering, you know. Never knew the right time to ask.”

“Best to ask when you’re tripping,” Lily mumbles. “Take a photo of me, Remus?” She’s holding out her film camera and Remus winds the film before holding the camera to his eye, catching Lily in the viewfinder. Her red hair glows a dull ruby in the bright afternoon sun, and a flower crown sits on top of her head so she looks like a queen of sorts, a queen of peace and nature. She beams and is beautiful in that light, captured forever in the click of her camera. 

Lily makes them all take portraits of each other. 

Mary, with her big puffy afro and endearingly kind face; Sirius and his long thick hair and white toothed grin; Remus and the huge red scar across his face, timid smile quirking his lips. 

The afternoon molds into evening. They talk and Remus and Sirius smoke themselves out, finally putting a stop to lighting up the joints when their limbs stop following commands from their brains; Remus smokes a joint and a fag at the same time just for kicks, both stuck between his lips and giving him the oddest combination of tastes in his mouth. They play cards, eat sandwiches that Lily had packed, gossip, weave flowers into each other's hair, do all sorts of things. 

Remus grows so bored that he teaches Sirius how to handroll his own fags, which is tedious and a waste of both tobacco and papers, but Remus thinks its intensely badass to roll your own, and a fuck you to capitalism, once again. He finally gets to explain pirate radio to Sirius, who listens intently as he mashes the tobacco in the paper. 

Remus takes a walk as the sun sets and finds Sion, who has a neck covered in hickies and is very giggly. Sion says he’s found a boy and he’ll watch the set with him, if Remus doesn’t mind, and he’ll see him back at home tomorrow. Remus tells him to be careful, and Sion gives him a big hug and tells him “I love you”, this in a more platonic way than they’ve exchanged it before and Remus strolls back towards the blanket, their private island of solace, meditating on how his sexual relationship with Sion seems to have ended because the other boy has wordlessly picked up on what Remus and Sirius have going on.

Sion, in his own extra special muggle way, is magic.

All four of them take a nap as dusk falls. Mary mumbles that the music will wake them up when it starts, and so down they go, cuddling up together like so many others on the lawn. Sirius and Remus end up spooning, of course. Mary rests her head on Lily’s backpack, and Lily uses Mary’s stomach as a pillow. They’re warm and stoned and trusting.

Remus wakes up and it’s all dark. The moon is rounded but not full, all hazy and grey at the edges. Remus props himself up on his elbows. Sirius is still asleep, now curling tighter into the absence that Remus had left, muttering softly in his sleep. Lily and Mary are still in the same position, sleeping off the end of the trip.

“D’you know what’s going on?” Remus asks the people on the blanket a few feet away. “What time is it?”

“Almost half eleven, and the show was supposed to finish by now!” One of the blokes calls.

“It’s bollocks,” his friend adds, puffing on a cigarette and pulling his jacket tighter around him. “What a waste.”

“Mental.” Remus tells them. “Cheers.” They nod, grumbling to each other, and with a frown, Remus wakes up the rest of his friends. The cheers only start when Mary stands up to stretch. There are people onstage.  _ Mick Jagger  _ is onstage.

The Rolling Stones proceed to play a two and a half hour set that Remus will never in his entire life forget. 

They open with (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction, one of the first songs that Remus had ever played for Sirius back in first year. It’s like a waking dream. It is so much  _ fun.  _ Remus is flush with memories associated with just listening to the Stones, especially Sirius swinging his hair and hips while singing  _ If you can’t rock me, somebody will!  _ in the common room, fifth year, when Remus had been high and hard, losing his mind over realizing that he had it  _ bad  _ for his best friend…

God, and Brown Sugar, another memory from first year, when Remus had been losing his mind over Mick’s voice, and the way he sang “Cold English blood runs  _ hot _ ,” and Remus and Sirius shout this line with the rest of the crowd as they both share twin grins.

Mary and Lily are dancing insane, moving their bodies, hips, arms, hair, twisting and moving with the rest of the crowd, singing and laughing and dancing as the night picks up; it is one in the morning, finally cold, and the Rolling Stones are playing to a crowd of hundreds of thousands.

Star, Star is one of Sirius’s favorites and he dances shamelessly with the girls, singing out loud, looking as though he’s drunk as a skunk. Mick is tearing up the stage, obviously high out of his goddamn mind, and Remus feels so lighthearted and happy, thinking that this is the best night of his life. 

“You’re a star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star fucker,  _ star!”  _ Sirius shouts, grabbing Remus and shaking his head as he dances. Onstage, Mick Jagger is sharing the mic with Ronnie Wood and essentially grinding on the guitarist in a show of positively insane theatrics that leave Remus somewhat breathless. Keith Richards, Remus’s private choice of the hottest member, is smoking a cigarette while playing. 

Two and a half hours pass in a flash. Remus isn’t even exhausted by the time they’re finished. His leg doesn’t ache, his lungs don’t burn when he breathes, he has been reinvigorated and completely enlightened by music and almost feels like crying by the time Street Fighting Man fades out and the band takes their final bows. 

The nighttime is dark and cool, so Remus feels alright wearing his flannel shirt with long sleeves and he wanders through the darkness, wondering how sticky humidity would taste on his tongue, how it would curl his hair and slick his skin, how it would feel to be somewhere else. 

Pitching a tent in the darkness is hard, and it’s harder when you’re high, magnified times twenty when you’re still tripping acid, and incredibly difficult when you’ve just seen the Rolling Stones and can’t think about anything but the great big world around you, and how you love everyone in it. 

Mary and Remus hammer the stakes into the ground while Lily and Sirius waltz with each other in faint buzzing lantern light. There is no color left in them, and they are black and white except for when the orange light catches Lily’s hair or the red logo on Sirius’s shirt, when they swing too close to it and knock it over into the grass. Remus stamps it out so they don’t start a fire. 

Tents set and Lily and Mary crawl inside one of them, unroll their sleeping bags, crawl in in their same clothes and fall asleep. The trip has washed them into sleepyland, as Sirius calls it, and he reports to Remus that the girls are asleep as he staggers out of their tent, wiping his eyes, looking at Remus in the moonlight.

Sirius says, “I don’t want to go to sleep. Can we go for a drive?”

“Yes.” Remus gets to his feet, still not feeling the familiar ache of his right leg. “Where should we go?”

“London.” London is an hour away but Remus makes it forty five with his foot on the gas and the windows rolled down. There’s a few of Mr. Davies’s tapes in the car. It’s Welsh folk music, and Remus sings along to a few songs that he recognizes. Sirius laughs as they drive through the dark motorways, wind whipping with the speed, a smile on his face until they reach his hometown.

Hometown hero, frowning with worry as they drive familiar streets.

They say that New York City never sleeps but neither does London. Sirius swallows hard as he turns off the stereo, leaving them in what would be silence but is not: four in the morning and there are people stumbling through the streets, in those moments between drunk and hungover; there are cars driving, people on bikes, stray dogs, trash collectors, apartments with lights on, people thinking about waking up and going to work, people stumbling home from night shifts. 

“I’ve never felt like I’ve lived here,” Sirius confesses as the streets blur, “I’ve never felt like I’ve lived anywhere. Nowhere is home to me. Ask me where I’m from and I have no answer. I don’t know London at all. Not like Mary, because it’s her  _ home.  _ She has places to take you, things to see, places to have fun, old haunts. I don’t know it at all. I’m a stranger.” 

Remus tells him, “You’re young, Sirius, you don’t need a home yet. You’ve got time. You have Mold, and you have Godric’s Hollow, and Hogsmeade, yeah? Aren’t those home by now?” Sirius doesn’t reply. The sound of sleepless, hollow London is left behind as Remus steers them back towards Knebworth. The sun rises as they return north. 


	81. [YR 6] Handcuffs

_i’d drown all these crying babies if i knew that their mothers wouldn’t cry_

_i’d hold them down and i’d squeeze real soft and let a piece of myself die_

**reg**

His mother tells him it’s initiation and Bellatrix calls it the same thing, although she invites him over to her dark little flat beforehand and pours him a glass of wine, almost fussing over him, telling him that it’s best to relax and not think too much about it.

Regulus doesn’t know what _it_ is.

“Can’t you tell me?” He asks as Bellatrix finally stops pacing and sits down on the sofa next to him as her husband strides in. Rodolphus is tall and thin, with long dark hair and a goatee. 

“Tell you what?” Rodolphus asks, reminding Regulus rather bluntly of Sirius. “More wine, Regulus?” Regulus doesn’t reply, just holds out the glass while Rodolphus tops him up. “Initiation, eh? Tonight?” Regulus nods. “Where’ve they got you going?”

“Rosier’s estate,” Bellatrix tells him. “Your friend will be there, then, Regulus. Evan?” Regulus nods again. “And some others, I hear. Scabior, Mulciber, Selwyn, Snape.”

“Snape?” Rodolphus pours himself some wine and sits down across from Bellatrix and Regulus. “Not Sacred Twenty-Eight. I’ve never heard his name.”

“He’s a half-blood.” Regulus’s voice is hoarse as he speaks, since he’s been very quiet all evening. Both Bellatrix and Rodolphus look interested. “A Slytherin, though. His magic’s very strong. He’s dedicated.” 

“Good.” Rodolphus crosses his legs and swirls the wine in the glass, looking very casual. Regulus clears his throat.

“So, er, initiation. What is it?” Bellatrix laughs and it’s an awful sound, high pitched and sends chills down Regulus’s spine.

She tells him that there’s secrets and spoilers in life for things that should remain surprises. To Bellatrix, a surprise is a white toothed smile, a surprise is a firecracker and burning your house down. Smell of smoke lingers, or else the taste of blood on your tongue and that wild laugh bubbling out of your throat as though uncontainable.

Regulus wonders if Bellatrix considers anything in the world to be wrong.

If her mother died, would she cry? If Rodolphus died? Or Regulus? 

If Bellatrix’s flat, god forbid, ever filled with licking flames that incinerated the place she lives and spends time, would she come home to see charred nothing, all of her belongings just chunks of dark ash, and feel bad about it? Or would she laugh that wild laugh and run off into the night, just like always?

Regulus doesn’t want a surprise. 

Rodolphus pours him a shot of vodka in a small, neat glass and gives Regulus a biting smile, then says, “Drink up, Reg, it’ll make it easier.” What is _it?_ And besides, Regulus hates being called “Reg”, because no one but Sirius can call him that without him wanting to scream at them. Everyone does, anyways, regardless.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus stand side by side as Regulus ducks into their fireplace with a palmful of floo powder. 

“Good luck, Regulus,” Bellatrix tells him in her always, permanently condescending voice, “Just stay calm. That’s all. Keep calm.”

Regulus just says “Okay,” like a child; doesn’t thank them for the booze or the unhelpful pep talks that only served to make him more scared, as though he could be _calm_ in the face of some mysterious Death Eater initiation that only seems to be bearable under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. 

Barty is sitting in the parlor of Evan’s house, his dark mop of hair covering his eyes, hands on his lap, legs jiggling as he bounces them with anxiety. Regulus had not been expecting him. Barty and his dad get along about as well as Sirius and his mother, yet it’s the opposite here: Barty Crouch Sr despises of his only son’s ambition and passion towards serving the Dark Lord, and Barty is often not even permitted to leave his house during the summer as his father is afraid of what he’ll get up to.

It appears that Barty Crouch Sr’s views are reasonable. Regulus takes a step out of the fireplace and Barty looks up at him with these wild, fearful eyes.

“Barty-”

“He’s using- Regulus- he’s using- he’s _torturing_ us.”

“What?” Regulus sits down on the sofa next to his friend and thinks that while he personally wishes this was not true, there is no way to deny it.

“I’ve been sitting here, waiting my turn, the rest of them have gone, and everyone’s been screaming and screaming like it’s the worst thing ever, and Carnelian threw up, and Anthony was crying-”

“Slow down,” Regulus hisses, “You’re not supposed to be telling me this.” Barty quiets. His face is very pale. From the next room, Regulus can hear hoarse screaming; goosebumps up his arms and a chill down his spine. “This is initiation, Barty, what did you expect? This is serious, this isn’t for _kids_.” Regulus puts a little venom into his words and sees Barty try to make sense of what he’s being told. “If you really want to be a Death Eater, you’ve got to do it. It won’t last long. My cousin said you just have to relax, just try your best to stay calm and it’ll be over faster than you know.”

“Okay…” 

“And just think, we’ll get our Dark Marks right after, yeah?” Barty nods again and it’s clear that this is bringing him more excitement; he obviously has always wanted to belong right in the middle of things, and being awarded his Dark Mark will make him the member of a very elite group, the same as it will disturb his father to no end. 

The screaming in the next room stops abruptly. A figure appears in the doorway in dark robes with a vaguely familiar face. Jonathan Rosier, Evan’s older brother. He’s in his mid-twenties, still young, but his face looks very much serious.

“Crouch,” he says, eyes fixed on the nervous boy, “Your turn.” Barty screams just as loud while Regulus sits on the empty sofa and takes deep breaths to calm the ridged anxiety tearing at the soft flesh inside of him. Ten seconds in, hold, ten seconds out. Over and over again until the screams stop, and a few minutes later, Jonathan returns.

“Alright, Black, last one of the night. In you go.” 

The next room, it seems, is a second parlor. There is a glossy, dark piano seated majestically in the corner, and velvet draperies hanging from the windows; rich wooden chairs around a low table, and handsome stuffed furniture. Very tasteful. Standing in front of the fireplace (second fireplace, Regulus notes), is the Dark Lord himself.

He looks the same as the last time, maybe a little paler, a little more wasted; his eyes are sharp blue but have that red tinge, like pink eye, like blood. Dark brown hair, sharp sharp features, features that seem to shift and blur when Regulus tries to look at them for too long.

“Kneel, Black.” Regulus assumes that formalities will be made after the torture ensues.

So Regulus kneels obediently; tilts his head down and takes a very deep breath, thinking good things, about the Quidditch pitch and the smell of fresh cut grass, the cool watery green of the Slytherin common room, about dancing with Theodora Rowle at the summer ball last year, about how stupid it had felt but _fun,_ like laughing out loud and love, and then Lord Voldemort says, “ _Crucio_!”

Regulus cannot breathe.

He gasps, clutching at his chest, eyes watering with pain; the hurt is everywhere and all at once, but strongest most in his chest. He gasps, over and over, but it is cut short because he’s _drowning,_ he panics and thinks _I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, Ican’tbreatheIcan’tbreatheICAN’T-_

Regulus crumples, falling halfway onto the ground, still trying to support himself but he can’t see anything, there is no more color except for flashes of red, white, and black, water crashing over him and he can’t swim, can’t hold out and his lungs will no longer breathe, he is dying, he is panicking and dying right now and then it ends. 

Regulus gasps and is rewarded with air, with life; he heaves deep breaths and drinks in the muted, musky scent of the Rosiers’ second parlor. He hasn’t fallen completely onto the floor and instead has crumpled onto both knees, hands on the floor in front of him.

“Rise, Black.” Regulus stands very shakily and has to lean against a chair for support. The smell of dark magic is snapping in the air: taut and coppery. Regulus’s body is buzzing with aching magic. Everything hurts, and all he wants to do is lie down and remember how to breathe, but this cannot happen, not now. “Very good…” The Dark Lord looks almost pleased. Regulus stands straighter, meeting Voldemort’s glazed blue eyes. 

Regulus had not thrown up, nor had he cried, nor had he screamed, when he came to think of it. He had taken the pain and is now standing straight.

“Regulus Arcturus Black, you have proven yourself to be a worthy Death Eater. Are you prepared to obey, to follow commands, to conduct violence and, if needed, to kill? Without question?”

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Very good.” The Dark Lord repeats this, and the ghost of a smile flickers over his face. “Hold out your left forearm.” A jolt of excitement rushes through Regulus. This is it. He rolls up the sleeve of his robes and holds out his pale forearm. Voldemort holds out his wand and points it at Regulus’s arm, muttering an incantation. The dark magic in the air snaps with taut pressure, and Regulus holds his breath as a sharp, stinging pain rushes up his arm. 

A Dark Mark has appeared on his arm; all dark ink and whirling snakes into a skull’s mouth, and he has done it, survived the torture and has _this_ to show for it.

“Very good, Black. Color me impressed. How old are you, my boy, fifteen?”

“Sixteen in a few weeks, my lord.” Voldemort nods again.

“Well, then, an early happy birthday to you.” Voldemort’s face stretches in a small smile. “You’re very young, Black, but you are the heir of your family, are you not?”

“I am, my lord.”

“Good… good…” Voldemort watches him with those intelligent, haunting eyes. “You may go, Black.”

“Thank you, my lord.” 

**s**

“So, what, does this mean long sleeves forever? What do we do in the summer? How do I dress up _nice_?” Severus sighs and tries to keep himself from glaring across the train carriage at Evangeline Snyde.

“Well, you could show it off.” Anthony Scabior tells her. “It’s something to be proud of.”

“We can’t show it off at school, we’d get expelled,” Erwin Mulciber growls. “Don’t be daft. Eva, you should have thought of fashion before taking the Mark. If it’s that ruddy important to you.”

“There’s no need to be rude about it, I’m only saying!” Severus sighs again.

“Anything to add, Severus, or have you only got sighs to give us? Not too fond of starting sixth year?” Erwin’s voice is always over aggressive: challenging, and Severus is not keen on fighting with him. 

“I just hope it passes quickly,” Severus mutters, “I can’t wait for school to be over.” There is a pause in the compartment, as though the other three of them haven’t considered that life after Hogwarts might be better than life inside it; Erwin, of course, wants to fight, and Scabior too, although the latter has served more detentions and jokes around much more, not exactly taking his education seriously, while Erwin has just returned from a Prefect meeting. 

“So,” Evangeline speaks into the silence, “How did you all do on your O.W.Ls?” Severus had made nine O.W.Ls, more than anyone else in the carriage, and is secretly pleased with himself, feeling a bit smirky and puffed up knowing that he’s smarter than the lot of them, even Erwin. 

Severus feels proud but also bitter, because he _does_ want school to be over (wants it so bad it hurts), but afterwards, he will be at war and his Dark Mark will burn every day when he’s summoned to go commit crimes, to go do awful things, and he’s not even sure if he’ll make it out alive. A part of him doesn’t care. His life has been unforgiving. It would be a relief.

Another part of him knows that he could very well end up in Azkaban. This is something he genuinely has to worry about because there is no blood money to bail him out, no powerful family speaking words laced with threats and dark magic; no, there is nothing protecting Severus. No one. 

Severus is yanked from his thoughts when Anthony says, “Oh, Severus, there’s your mudblood! Saw her at the prefect meeting, did you Erwin?” Severus ignores Anthony and Erwin’s subsequent remarks to glance out of the carriage and spot Lily walking down the corridor next to Lupin, who bears a very large and unpleasant scar clean across his face.

 _Half breed beast deserves it,_ Severus thinks darkly as Lily turns her nose up while walking by the carriage. 

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” Severus mumbles as Lily and the half breed disappear down the hall. It is, for all accounts, a true statement. 

During their first Advanced Potions lesson, Severus’s favorite class at school, Lily sits in the back of the classroom at a different desk, studiously ignoring him; she reminds him of how other students treat him, with neglectful disdain, as though she hardly knows him, as though they hadn’t been best friends for all of childhood. 

Severus knows that she’s right and there is no way to remedy this, now. He is officially a Death Eater and that reminder is etched into his forearm in black ink. 

The torture hadn’t been so bad. It had been a release, of sorts, a way to prove himself that didn’t require any talents save for not pissing yourself or ending up sobbing like a baby. Out of all of those who had been initiated that fateful night in late August, Severus and Regulus Black had held up best against the Cruciatus Curse and Severus knows that this is another thing not to be proud of, yet can’t help but somehow hold it tight in his chest.

If someone asks, then yes, he’d _personally_ been tortured by Lord Voldemort before getting a homemade tattoo from him, quite lush isn’t it? Right, how was your summer?

It’s not something Severus can write on his job applications, nor can he tell Slughorn during career chats, in fact, none of the young blooded Death Eaters at Hogwarts are to tell anyone about the initiation process. No naming names. Jonathan Rosier, fresh faced and right where Voldemort wants him, shall not be implicated, and neither shall his parents, and neither shall Evan. None of them. They entrust each other with this safe, awful, sacred thing. 

It is Dark Magic. Severus is already in over his head. 

He spends the first week at Hogwarts working himself into a familiar rhythm. Severus had very much enjoyed the stress of fifth year, since it gave him an excuse to hole himself up in the library and not speak to anyone for days on end. Him and some Ravenclaws had sometimes even spent the night in the library, once O.W.L season started in earnest.

Severus starts preparing for his N.E.W.Ts a year in advance because he’s not the most social person in the world, and spends most evenings either in the library studying or making potions in the dungeon. His happy places. Unfortunately, his peace is disturbed one night in the library by some voices nearby; one voice, in particular, that’s achingly familiar.

It’s Lily’s voice, and he knows this because he could recognize it anywhere in this pathetic, lovesick way that never seems to get old. Who is the boy she’s talking to, though? Severus leans as far back in his chair as he can muster, knowing how ridiculous he must look, and realizes with an unpleasant jolt that Lily is sitting alone with Sirius Black, talking to him like a friend.

What the _hell?_

At the end of fifth year, Lily had been at odds with Sirius: threatening to hex him, glaring him down over the edge of her wand as though ready to use any spell he deserved. What had changed? Are they _friends?_ Severus finds himself disgusted. 

He finds it difficult to decide who he hates more: Black, Potter, or the half breed. 

Potter is disgustingly arrogant, more so than Black, and big headed to a degree that Severus is sure he could fly away if it was inflated any more. He’s _sickening,_ and a blood traitor, and an awful, generally miserable person. Black is so very much the same, but he has that incredibly haughty pureblooded attitude that’s never left him, and Severus thinks that Black is nothing if not a poser. 

He rebels in the most careless ways: growing out his hair, piercing his ears, wearing punk clothes because he wants to upset his family. If Severus were born into a family as rich and powerful as the Blacks, he wouldn’t complain. No, Severus would be grateful to live a life like Sirius’s. How could there be anything wrong? Why does he find the need to be so unnecessarily _dramatic?_

Then, of course, the half breed. In their first few years at Hogwarts, Severus had held some uncertain respect for Lupin. He’s smart, granted, and has somehow worked his way into a Prefect position, but Severus can not forget the werewolf’s insane, bitter anger during fourth year, the fights they’d gotten into, the shame. 

Stupid fucking little gang.

Severus inches closer to the bookshelf, trying to pick up on what they’re saying. Black’s voice always seems to carry, and Severus can pick up on a few words: moon, scars, greenhouse, and then:

“Snivellus, I can hear you breathing from all the way over here, so either come join us or fuck off.” Severus curses himself. Walking away would most likely earn him a hex to the back, and so he takes a few hesitant steps around the shelf, working up something awful and evil to spit at Black.

“Eavesdropping, Snape? Any questions about the lesson at hand?” Black has his chair tilted back and looks, incredibly, haughtier than ever before. Lily’s face is pale as she looks from Black to Severus, nervous.

“I know what you’re up to, Black.” Severus sneers at him, despite the fact that he doesn’t know what Sirius is up to at all. “Finding ways to protect your beast? I know what he is, you know. Your _beast._ ” Sirius stands up very abruptly, his chair screeching against the wooden floor, and his wand is out, pointed right at Severus; Lily doesn’t move to stop him, just glares at Severus with sharp green eyes.

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Sirius snaps very sharply, “And you should keep your mouth shut, Snivellus. I’ll be teaching you a lesson. _Mimblewimble!_ ” The spell sounds stupid coming out of his mouth but Severus is the one at the receiving end of the Tongue-Tying jinx and immediately feels the urge to vomit as his tongue twists up in his mouth. 

Stupidly, and by his own unfortunate accord, Severus attempts to speak because he has some choice words to share with Black, but the words come out like “Uhr a uhhin ie uh ih, oo ooheh ohher, ah I ohe oo ie.” 

“Watch your mouth, Snivellus!” Sirius admonishes. “Begone!” Severus doesn’t have any other option but to give Black the two fingered salute, as though perhaps he is twelve years old and doesn’t have any better reactions than to gesture _up yours_ to bullies, because it’s sixth year and Sirius Black is definitely bent for a bloody werewolf. 

Lily and Black snicker together as Severus strides back to his table where he finds all of his school books missing. He passes a hand over his greasy face, praying for some sort of patience to a god that he most definitely doesn’t have any faith in.

Sixth year is already off to a less than memorable start, but Severus has plans. Big, big plans. He doesn’t know what Black was threatening by ‘teaching him a lesson’- if this meant a simple jinx or something much more threatening- but Severus has his own goal for the year, this being to finally oust the half breed for what he is.

Feeling satisfied with his current ambitions and hoping his textbooks will reappear at some point, Severus hefts his bag over his shoulder and heads for the infirmary, hoping to have his tongue untied by tonight.


	82. [YR 6] Suck It and See

_ your love is like a studded leather headlock _

_ your kiss it could put creases in the rain _

**r**

As a sixth year, Remus Lupin had been given the admirable opportunity to pick the password to the Gryffindor common room. He had discussed the options with Lily, somewhat, who hadn’t had any ideas to write home about and therefore had made the regrettable decision to let Remus pick the password.

So of course it’s in Welsh. It’s really not very complicated at all, just the translation of ‘bravery’ into Welsh, being ‘dewrder’, and okay, it’s a little hard to pronounce but this is not Remus’s fault. Most everyone above third year seems to understand that it becomes distinctly shameful to lock yourself out of the common room once you reach a certain age. 

Remus has locked himself out a few times since third year ended, most often while stoned, and there is something quite peaceful about settling down on the cold floor outside and making nice conversation with the Fat Lady until someone comes out or in, unknowingly letting in whoever has been stranded on the outside.

In mid September, a few days after the full moon where Remus has a tetchy headache, he walks up to the common room to see a few first years looking distraught. That’s all they seem to do, really, first years. Cry, worry, do things too loudly or else speak too quietly, get lost, ask for help. Remus, Julie, and Pandora have started up their tutoring sessions again and the first years are as bleak minded and oblivious as ever.

“What’s up?” Remus asks as he walks up to them, seeing the group of about four look pale faced as he approaches. None of them reply. “Hello? Hi? Are you all okay?”

“We don’t have any money.” One of them says very pathetically. He has long, sort of shaggy, blonde hair and does not look at Remus while he speaks. 

“Money?” Remus looks at them. “How d’you mean  _ money _ ?”

“To get into the common room, we haven’t got any.”

“You don’t need any money to get in! You need the password!”

“We forgot it.” The boy says, a little louder, looking up at Remus with blazing blue eyes. “Well, no, we didn’t forget it, we just don’t know how to  _ pronounce  _ it correctly! Some tosser made it in Welsh, as though any of us speak it!” Remus stares at the boy who immediately breaks eye contact. “So, your mates were charging people entry.”

“What mates? My mates?”

“I don’t know their names… the Indian one, with the glasses, the Quidditch captain. And the punk.” James and fucking Sirius are  _ charging _ first years entry to the common room? 

“Lads… the password is  _ dewrder,  _ okay? Bravery. Do you want to say it with me?” None of them reply. Remus doesn’t know why they’re all so scared of him. Last year, kids had been running to him for help right and left. “All of you, say it out loud so I know you’ve heard me. Dewrder.” A chorus of angsty mutters echo Welsh back to him, and Remus feels an evil grin bloom onto his face. “Very good, boys. Go practice that, and I’ll go deal with my mates, okay? Have a good night.”

Remus leaves in pursuit of people who will not lead to him having a good night. Not for the first time, he thinks that they  _ really  _ need a tracking charm on the Marauder’s Map. Once he’s through with James and Sirius, he’ll think about figuring one out. But first: justice.

“Prongs, I can smell you from back here, why don’t you have the cloak?” Over the summer, James had sprouted up to six feet tall which makes a five foot nine Sirius very upset, and he has also butchered the art of using aftershave. In this case, butchering means using it to such an extent that all of the, but most of all Remus with his heightened sense of smell. The heightened sense of  _ height,  _ also, makes using the invisibility cloak harder these days for when James or Remus use it you can often see a pair of ankles and feet wandering around with no body attached. 

“Hello, Moony, we just weren’t expecting you, were we?” James steps out from where he’s been doing a bad job of hiding, with his extra-charismatic grin on. It’s one that Remus does not fall to because he’s not attracted to James, but his friend’s sparkling white teeth, tousled hair, and heartening crooked nose mixed with the thick glasses do add to this charming sympathy. 

“You cannot charge first years entry to the common room.” Sirius has now stepped out behind James, grinning blithely at Remus. “Sirius, James, come on. Imagine if a bunch of sixth years did that to you as first years. You would have pranked them. You would have made them regret it. I’m sure you’ll regret this.”

“No one will ever be as good as us at anything,” Sirius explains. “I thought you knew this by now. Why are you angry again?” 

Remus gives up. He’s been at it for years. 

Sirius kisses him open mouthed that night in his best form of an apology for something he’s not really sorry for at all. Remus dissolves into him, quiet despite the silencing charm cast over Remus’s bed, and they move together in a way that’s becoming a little more familiar now. 

At the end of fifth year, they had been all lovestruck and nervous, laughing with inexperience and awkwardness as they touched each other; it had been the stuff of fantasies but once it really took root in real life, neither of them properly knew how to make each other feel good without laughing about it. They’ve had practice over the summer, though.

Sirius likes sucking dick, which is something Remus appreciates about him and also finds very funny, as this punk rebel with good hair and a leather jacket is also the most submissive person in bed: whiny, desperate, eager to please. Remus has never been dominant, per se, partly because he doesn’t feel the need but also because he doesn’t think sex needs to be something harsh or relentless. 

They have sex tonight, and Remus is as always left to be on top. Sirius’s body is already slicked with sweat from foreplay and how Remus’s elevated body heat fills up the four poster with this steamy warmth, and maybe it’s magic, too, the way the buzzing in Remus’s bones sometimes snaps when he’s angry or draws up to a wave when he’s in love: this aching warmth all around him that leaves Sirius sweaty but glazed eyed, not so quiet anymore as Remus pushes into him.

He lets out soft groans as Remus finds a rhythm, picking up speed as he pushes in harder, throat choked with emotion, liquid warmth pooling in his stomach and bubbling up inside him. Sirius is so warm under him, around him, all sweaty and hot, his hair so long and thick down around his shoulders, his lips softly open, stuttering noises from his throat, and then Remus is overcome with feeling and climaxes, panting and groaning, whole body shaking from adrenaline.

He pulls out and collapses down next to Sirius, arms still shaky from holding himself up, chest warm with love.

It’s cheesy and somewhat obscene, but the next day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus uses last night’s memories to try producing a Patronus. This years’ professor (who James and Sirius affectionately refer to as ‘Number 6’) is actually named Andrew Wallace: a clearly depressed, burnt out man who reminds Remus of his father. 

He tells them the Patronus charm is the brightest thing in the Wizarding world, something based solely off of happiness and the memories that make you feel choked up with tears because they’re so happy, and so good, and completely untainted by anything bad.

Lily asks Professor Wallace to demonstrate, and Remus isn’t sure that this middle aged man with a lined face and a heaviness to his posture will be able to, but he shouts “ _ Expecto Patronum _ !” and a fox made of silver light beams burst out of his wand, flicking its tail and gnashing its grinning teeth. It scampers around the room while the students laugh and twist around to watch it. 

Remus wracks his brain for a memory as Wallace sets the class to work.

James is the first in their class to produce it. 

Remus had been watching his friends with envy as silvery wisps of light poured out of their wands, but nothing came from his despite all of his best tries. Over and over again, he repeats the spell, thinks of Sirius lying next to him in bed with the way his heart felt like bursting, and casts the charm but it doesn’t  _ work. _

James laughs out loud, then, his brown face lit up in silver, an expression of pure and innocent joy on his face as a huge silver stag erupts from his wand, galloping around the classroom while Peter literally starts clapping for him. Remus stops, arm aching from brandishing his wand for so long, and watches the stag with a frown until it disappears.

“Very nice, Mr. Potter!” Wallace tells him. “Very, very well done! Take ten points for Gryffindor!” James is still grinning with none of his usual arrogance. In fact, he looks as he did when he was much younger, before he found the need to prove himself to the world by being best at everything. His face is very bright, very joyful, still caught in a laugh.

“What memory did you use?” Sirius asks him openly, curiously. He’d produced some white wisps of light, but nothing like the full fledged and corporeal Patronus that James had sent out into the world.

“Winning the Quidditch cup.” James drags a hand back through his unruly hair. His memory is so simple and honest. Untainted happiness. Remus can’t think up his own.

He abandons Sirius in bed and thinks about something else. Knebworth Fair, then. Hearing ‘Brown Sugar’ live. The roar of the crowd, hearing Mick’s ragged voice through the mic, that insatiable warmth that music brings.

“Expecto patronum!” Finally, some silver light emits from Remus’s wand, but it’s just a few foggy wisps that disappear quickly. Remus is once again distracted by someone else’s success, this time being Dorcas, who laughs out loud just the same as James and watches her silver horse gallop around the classroom.

“Buggering fuck,” Remus grumbles, shaking out his arm. He’s too frustrated to try again, since all his happiness is being tainted by his incapability to be happy _enough._ Not even the casual intimacy of last night, of having sex with the love of his life, or seeing the Stones: the best day of his life are strong enough. 

Sirius, at least, hasn’t been able to produce anything corporeal. Remus watches his boyfriend: sees his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he works up a memory, lets it fill him up, and then casts the spell again only to see those telltale strands of silver. 

“You’ll get it, Pads,” Remus encourages. Sirius glances up at him in distraction and nods. 

“I’ll give it another go, at least. Let me just manifest…” Sirius closes his eyes and Remus watches with interest as the other boy works up the happy memory again, takes a deep breath, and casts the charm. Remus’s heart sinks as a dog bursts out of Sirius’s wand. His sharp face lights up the room as the dog chases after Marlene’s Patronus, an elegant looking bird that takes off into the air to display a huge wingspan and sends down sparkles over silver upon them all.

“Great job, Padfoot!” James cheers, clapping a grinning Sirius on the shoulder. Remus had offered him encouragement solely because he hadn’t expected his boyfriend to produce it. Remus wonders if he’s the only person in the class who hasn’t mastered it. 

“That’s alright,” Comes a voice from his side, as though having read his mind, “I can’t get it either. I just don’t… I don’t  _ understand  _ enough. I’ve never been one for manifesting.” Mary’s brown eyes scan the scene of their classmates succeeding with tight lipped indifference. 

“Maybe we could practice after class, you know, so not to get all jealous,” Remus offers. “Not that you’re jealous, I mean, haha,  _ I’m  _ not jealous-”

“That’s alright, Remus, I’m jealous too. Only natural. Yeah, let’s practice sometime. Not today, though. I’m all happied-out.” 

Remus is quietly thoughtful for the rest of the day. Part of him knows that he has depression and maybe he’ll never be able to produce a Patronus because of that grey cloud in his head that gives all his memories water spots and unfortunate stains. The cloud moves, sometimes, gets thinner and the sun shines into his head, but there’s still puddles everywhere. They hardly ever dry up completely. Things are worse when it won’t stop storming. Then there’s a flood. Remus drowns in his own mind. 

There’s millionaire shortbread for pudding, though, so that’s alright. Maybe eating it could be Remus’s Patronus memory.

He actually sits down in the common room after dinner to do some research on how to produce a proper Patronus. Tips and tricks, the like. He has a Prefect meeting in an hour and had been planning on finally sitting down and working out how to cast the Homunculus Charm on the map, but was interrupted by the one and only Caradoc Dearborn.

“Hallo Remus, hope you had a good summer!” Remus glances up distractedly and gives a brief smile to Caradoc before remembering that the older boy isn’t even  _ in  _ Gryffindor.

“Yeah, it was great, erm… Why are you in here?” Caradoc looks around the common room in apparent surprise. Remus checks the seventh years’ robes to make quite sure that he’s still in Hufflepuff. 

“I live here!”

“The  _ common room,  _ not the castle.” Caradoc holds up both hands. 

“I know the password, butt!”

“You-  _ why?  _ You’re in Hufflepuff!” 

“Listen, mate, I ran across some first years having a proper meltdown, are you with me? I asked what was wrong and all, and they told me the password this year is well tough because it isn’t even in English! And I said, what’s up with it, what is it? And they say: Oh, it’s bravery in Welsh!” Caradoc grins very broadly. “ _ I’m  _ Welsh!” 

“I’m going to have to change it now…” Remus mumbles, mostly to himself, wondering how Caradoc always manages to end up in situations such as these. 

“Leave it to you to torture the first years with a language they don’t even speak.” Caradoc draws over a nearby chair and sits on it in a fashion similar to Sirius, this inability to properly sit in a chair: spinning it around and crossing his arms over the back of it while leaning forward very importantly. 

“Remus, it seems as though I need your help again.” Remus shuts his book, now, finally giving Caradoc his full attention.

“What’s up?” As a Hufflepuff and as a Caradoc in general, the other boy cuts right to the chase.

“I’m trying to grow magic mushrooms in the greenhouses, and I need your help.” Remus protests. “Hold on- wait!” Caradoc cuts him off and holds up a hand asking for patience. “Don’t whack it before you try it! If you help me out, we’ll make a  _ lot  _ of money together. You know that, don’t you?” Unfortunately, Remus does know that. Every month during fifth year, Caradoc had split up his weed and cigarette earnings between Danny Hunter, Remus, and himself. All of them had made good money.

“This will be a lot more,” Caradoc repeats. His brown eyes glint with suppressed passion for the topic at hand. “ _ Lots _ .”

“Okay, yeah, I get it…” Remus scratches the back of his neck and glances blearily around the common room. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Oh, I’ve been banned.”

“From the greenhouses?”

“I was trying to grow weed last year, and Sprout found it all. Bad scene. Consider me ashamed.”

“You are not ashamed.”

“You’re right. She’s my head of house, though, so it’s a fair bit awkward, innit? Imagine if McGonagall caught you growing mushies… haha…” Caradoc laughs nervously. All Remus can do his shake his head at him. “Okay, but I’ll be expelled this time if they catch me in there up to something. I’ve made it  _ so  _ far! I’m almost done! And I’m trying to get into Auror academy, or whatever, you know, so if I get in legal trouble it’ll be a proper scene, are you with me?”

“Caradoc, you’ll make an awful Auror, you know that, right?”

“Thanks, Remus, for the support, but there’s a war on. So I’m doing what’s right, yeah?” This unexpected somber change in topic makes Remus feel a bit bashful for his frank insult. Caradoc waves his hand in the air as though trying to dispel the talk of war. “So, what do you say?”

“What do you require from me?”

“Haha, Remus, you’re funny. Don’t make it sound so  _ clinical _ ! I just need you to… plant them, like, and then take care of them. Set them up in some humid shade, maybe cast a glamour so no one finds them, and look after them. Use some growing magic, and I’m sure they’ll be set in a month or so. Batch number one. Sound okay?”

“Sounds alright.” Remus is hesitant and sort of grudging, but Caradoc does not seem to mind at all. He leans forward and smacks Remus on the shoulder, grinning widely. “Great stuff, Remus, we’re going to do great things.”

The greenhouses have always been sort of a safe space for Remus, even though he hasn’t taken the time to realize it. There is something about the way the light works, as though you’re standing in your own private terrarium; everything green and bright, teeming with life and radiance. At night, however, the place feels treacherous and earthy, sort of like the Forbidden Forest. 

“I’m going to get expelled if someone finds these,” Remus mumbles as Sirius drags the sparkling invisibility cloak off of them, “I’m going to jail.”

“Stuff it, Moony, that would never happen. Jail? Ha! Muggle prisons couldn’t hold us…  _ magical  _ prisons couldn’t hold us. We’re far too smart. I’d escape Azkaban a week in if they tried shoving me in there. What do you need?”

“One of those jars, some soil…” Sirius wanders off into the darkness while Remus ponders prison. “You’d break out of Azkaban a  _ day  _ in, like. You’re unstoppable.”

“Aren’t I?” Remus can’t see Sirius for the darkness but hears the other boy clattering around. Remus removes the bag that Caradoc had handed to him: filled with small syringes of mushroom spores and some magical powder to put in the soil. “Nice jar, nice soil, here you go Moons.”

“Cheers.  _ Lumos _ .” Sirius is a ghostly phantom in the eerie light. Grey pooled eyes flicker up to look at Remus. Eye contact always makes the both of them smile, and Sirius cracks a halfway grin. “Let’s get started.”

They sit on the floor of the fifth greenhouse and set to work. Well, Remus sets to work. Sirius looks on with engaged eyes, watching as Remus mixes soil with Caradoc’s magical powder, then tips it all into a jar. He closes the jar, pokes holes in the top, and injects the spores through the syringe. Remus does this twice more with two other jars, two other syringes of spores, and then hides them in the back of the greenhouse among many other jars.

“I’m good at glamours,” Sirius tells him. “Want me to try?” With a few expert waves of his wand, he makes it look like oregano is sprouting up in the jar. “Might add a label…” Their very illegal magic mushrooms/oregano now have a label reading: PERSONAL OREGANO! PLEASE DON’T PICK WITHOUT PERMISSION

Remus smiles.

“Caradoc would be proud.” 

“Yes, that desperate bugger most definitely will be. You’re always doing his dirty work.”

“And the money I make! I’ll have a fortune to rival yours after this year!”

“Ha ha,” Sirius says drily, taking a few steps across the dark, dirt strewn floor, and then kisses Remus. This happens very often, these days. Remus will be doing ordinary things: studying, eating, sleeping, planting mushrooms, and he will feel the telltale tickle of Sirius’s hair, look up to see his grey eyes a warm blue, and then they’ll start making out.

It sometimes develops into something more. It doesn’t tonight. A few long, deep kisses in the greenhouse, lips and tongue and enough affection to know that they are loved, out in the open and under the moonlight. Then they return underneath the cloak, even though Remus is much too tall for it now and usually drags it up by accident so you can see his ankles. Then they go back to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok also lmao i'm curious.. who are your guys' favorite characters in this fic?  
> (u already know i'm partial to caradoc but also remus, dorcas, and regulus reign supreme)


	83. [YR 6] Aren't You Tired of Hospital Beds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Prank is never canonically described as being during one specific point in time, so i took liberties with the timeline because i can do whatever i want.

_ i know the feeling man, you can’t count the fuck ups on two hands  _

_ what a stupid way to see if friends could keep their promises  _

_ aren’t you tired of hospital beds? _

  
  


**s**

On the nights of the full moon, the Marauders who aren’t presently sitting in the Shrieking Shack and awaiting the impending and very painful transformation usually spend the night tense and nervous. 

Sirius doesn’t know why they consider themselves so worried, since it’s never been dangerous (not really, and he tries his best to forget about that night in April when things went so wrong), and they all sort of have  _ fun,  _ you know, that adventurous kind of fun that they used to get out of pranks and now get out of transforming into various animals for the reason of running wild with a werewolf.

Fun, don’t you think?

Sirius doesn’t count himself worried. Remus had only hurt him once: April, a heavy claw to the ribs, blood everywhere, healed up by morning. No grudges held, no problem. Sirius tries to let things like these go. Forgiveness is important when it comes to Remus. For both of them.

Tonight, James and Peter are trying to work off their stress by finally flooding the dungeons. Of course, Sirius had been invited, but he had been busy trying to cast the Homunculus Charm on the Marauder’s Map after Remus had told him how. Sirius, vain as he is, had considered tonight a perfect opportunity to complete the map once and for all, by himself, when he can receive the main credit for getting the tracking charm on.

Brilliant stuff.

Complicated stuff, too, it seems. Sirius feels a bit inept at this without Remus’s patient guidance and instructions, but a small bit of concentration goes a long way in Sirius’s case. Remus had written himself a genuine list with little boxes to tick off of things to do while finishing the map, and Sirius abhors it. Bloody fucking lists. 

Sirius spends a while drawing footprints, scrolls to double as name tags, and perfecting the creepy cursive writing that he’d come up with as the font for the map. Sirius and Regulus had both been taught cursive at a young age and Sirius, despite himself, still writes in it out of habit. 

Sirius Black’s main issue is focus. He sits down for ten minutes, works on the map, and then goes up to fix the curtains for they’re sitting at an angle most displeasing to him. A few more minutes of work, then he gets up to switch off a lamp, back to work, then up again to turn the lamp back on. Restlessness. Sirius would chalk it up to the full moon despite the fact that he’s not a werewolf and the main issue is his problems with focusing, but then he comes to the conclusion that he’s hungry, which is true.

Sirius had skipped dinner because Remus had been nauseous and ill, so they had sat in the dorms and shared a joint, making Sirius invariably hungrier while Remus ate up all his chocolate in an attempt to soothe himself before the moon, and it might have worked, but Sirius had been jealous of those at dinner and also all the missing chocolate. The things that good boyfriends have to do.

Now, he decides, the map can wait a few more days to be finished as he cannot wait any longer to get supper. Sirius abandons his work with a glee all too childlike for a boy in his sixth year, and he bounds down the stairs to the common room, and out of the portrait hole only to be rewarded with a sight of a very sneaky, very slimy looking Severus Snape hanging about in the shadows like some demented vampire. 

Sirius feels like someone’s dumped cold water over his head.

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, you stupid slimy prat?” Sirius’s temper proves to be very short, even shorter than usual when it comes to Snape. The greasy haired Slytherin gets this sour look on his face whenever he’s talking to Sirius. Sirius wants to hex him again. 

“Going for a little moonlight adventure, are you, Black? You and your beast have big plans for the night?” The anger is raw and seething. It’s something to do with Remus, Sirius is sure, this primal urge to defend him. Snape isn’t allowed to say anything about Remus. Hearing Snape call him a beast, a half breed, all these awful terms make Sirius want to snap and do something very, very bad.

He wants Snape to  _ hurt. _

“Are you curious, Snivellus, sticking your big fat nose into everyone else’s business? Do you want to know something  _ fascinating?  _ I think you might find this very interesting…” Snape’s dark eyes are glimmering with suppressed interest. Sirius thinks not of Remus, in half an hour’s time, transformed into a werewolf but of the Whomping Willow, all heavy swinging branches and violence personified. 

Sirius thinks of Davey Gudgeon and his permanently closed eyelid. There’s nothing underneath, just a gaping socket, and Sirius wants to see what injury Snape will end up with to match. 

“There’s a knot at the base of the Whomping Willow. Touch it, and the tree will stop swinging. Then, everything will be very, very clear to you.”

“You’re having me on.” Sirius shrugs.

“Find out for yourself.” Sirius walks away before Snape moves, Snape who is clearly thinking this over, frozen in place while the gears in his head whirl back and forth in thought. Sirius continues down to the kitchens. There is something distinctly pleasurable about the thought that Snape will get an eye whacked out tonight. A little shiver of delight runs up Sirius’s spine. Permanent disfigurement has never seemed so fun!

A sandwich and some biscuits from the kitchen, a lovely chat with the house elves, and a slow stroll back up to the dormitory. Sirius loves Hogwarts most at night. 

The hallways are dark and an echoed, holy type of quiet found in churches, museums, and funeral parlors. Your shoes click loud, your words bounce off the walls, so it’s best to keep quiet when everyone else turns in for the night. Torches burn merrily in their holders, giving an orange hue to the castle, and high ceilings stretch overhead as Sirius ambles under them. He thinks that he could never grow tired of it.

And, alas and of course, the crimson glow of the Gryffindor common room that has felt like home whether he liked it or not, from the moment he set foot in it. Sirius jogs back up to the dormitory to find a somewhat agitated James and Peter inside.

“Where’ve you been?” James asks. “I thought you’d forgotten about, you know,” he jerks his thumb at the window in reference to the moon, “We’ll be late!”

“Alright, no fuss, let’s go! Just wanted a bite to eat. I ran into Snivellus on my way down to the kitchens, hanging about the tower like a creep. I dealt with him.”

“How? Hexed him?” James sounds excited about this. Him and Sirius are rather creative in their Snape-hexing abilities. 

“Nah, I told him to go mess about with the Willow.”

“How d’you mean? Why would he do that? After Gudgeon?”

“Oh, I gave him an incentive.”

“How do you mean?” James’s voice has slowed down. His tone is a bit more urgent. Sirius licks the last traces of sugar off of his fingers and glances over at James and Peter, the former holding his Invisibility Cloak with both hands, clutched a bit too tightly, and the latter biting at his nails while looking up at James for instruction.

“I mean… I just told him… I told him to go touch the base…”

“The knot, at the base?” James prompts. “To freeze the tree?”

“No-”

“To get into the tunnel, to go find Moony, who’s going to transform any second now, because we’re bloody fucking  _ late?!”  _ James’s voice rises in pitch throughout his sentence and is now very loud and squeaky. He corrects it with a loud bellow: “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sirius?” 

“I didn’t mean-”

“Come on, Pete, we’ve got to go!” Sirius watches in alarm as James drops the cloak on the floor, all but having forgotten it, and runs out of the dormitory with Peter on his heels. This is not what Sirius had intended at all.

**j**

James runs through the castle at full pelt, as he’s done so many times before, but for reasons much fairer than these. Peter sprints after him as best he can, for the staircases and twisty turns get them skidding around the corners on broken ankles. Once James bursts out the doors at a speed much too fast for even Mrs. Norris to keep up with, Peter falls behind huffing and puffing.

The moon is round and white in the sky.  _ We shouldn’t have been late,  _ James thinks as he sprints across the dark grounds. The grass is slick with late night dew, reflecting glimmering moonlight, and all of it would be so beautiful if James didn’t have his own preconceived notions about the moon and that he’s late. 

Why are they late?

Sirius. Sirius forgetting, getting too casual about it, as though forgetting that dark, serious things take place in the Shrieking Shack on full moon nights. They’ve all been treating it like some game. This proves that. 

The Whomping Willow has soft leaves falling down all around it, encircling it as they drift down to the ground. The branches had been recently still, but James watches them start whirling around the tree again. Snape must have gotten in by now. James stands on the outskirts of the tree’s violent arms, staring at the knot on the trunk, feeling very small under the huge glowing moon and the heavy, deadly branches of the willow.

Fuck. 

James is up against the stinging morals that creep around him, knowing that he’s on a journey to save his worst enemy. There is no other option. If Moony gets to Snape, then… James doesn’t want to think about it.

He springs into action.

It’s Gryffindor recklessness: throwing yourself onto the floor and army crawling along the ground, all the while inhaling obscene amounts of dirt as heavy branches swing overhead. James tears up his forearms against the ground as he crawls to the base of the tree. Roots and knots have broken the skin on his arms, and he can feel the hot rush of blood to go with the sparks of adrenaline in his chest.

James feels a bit like a worm, to be honest, as he finally makes it to the base of the tree. He sits up on his knees, reaching forward to press the knot on the base, feeling something a little close to relief at being  _ this  _ close to safety, but is then promptly slammed in the head by a heavy branch. Stars flash before his eyes, shattered in outlines as his glasses have been broken, and he falls to the ground where things go red, white, and then black as James finally closes his eyes.

His head aches something awful, and when he opens his eyes again, the whole world has gone unappealingly blurry with some topsy turvy additions that suggest he’s been victim to a concussion. Because the last thing James Potter, Quidditch captain, needs is another bloody concussion. 

James feels hot and cold, the world jerking at an unsightly angle as he stumbles back to his feet. The knot on the trunk is rough and unfamiliar against his hands. Peter is always the one who scampers through the branches to touch the knot. James has never done it himself, and wouldn’t have dreamed to do it as a human.

The tunnel sits at an angle as James wanders down it as a much slower pace than before. There’s something warm and wet dripping into his eyes. Blood? He sees the world through a shattered kaleidoscope of his glasses, and his head hurts so badly that he considers lying down in this darkness. Warm, familiar smell of dirt, and just the sound of his own breathing as he sleeps this nightmare away.

Then a loud howl tears through the night.

James starts running again.

His head is thudding something awful by the time the tunnel ends and he straightens up. Snape, of course, is there and hasn’t seen him yet. The Slytherin is creeping up the stairs to where Moony is. James can hear sounds of the wolf: growling, breaking, and then a very loud crashing sound. The whole shack shakes. Both James and Snape grab at the wall. James realizes, then, what is happening: that Moony can smell either Snape (closer) or James (familiar) and wants out more than ever.

There’s never humans around when he transforms; he’s trying to break down the door.

And he will succeed.

“Snape, you stupid fucking idiot, come here!” James screams. Snape whirls around, wand out, black eyes bright with fright. “Come  _ here _ !” James’s voice tears and he staggers forward, fumbling his own wand as Snape’s is pointing at him, unshaking in his pale hand.

“That’s- that’s  _ Lupin,”  _ Snape spits in a voice of utter disgust, “That’s  _ Lupin!” _

“And he will  _ bite  _ you if you stay here any longer!” The house shakes again, and as James moves towards the staircase on wobbly legs, he can see the wood in the door begin to give way as Moony throws himself against it. “Snape, what- what are you trying to do? What, are you trying to fight him?! Going to  _ kill  _ him?”

“We’d all be better off!” Another crash of the door, and Snape stumbles down the stairs. Moony is howling horribly, almost screaming with anger. Snape moves closer to James, lowering his wand, eyes wide with fear as the door finally gives. James grabs Snape, and they run. 

The wolf takes chase.

James shoves Snape behind him, and the other boy trips over his robes as he sprints down the tunnel. James’s vision is becoming progressively blurrier. There’s blood in his eyes, blood all over his face and Moony is right behind him, picking up speed, and James realizes here that there is no helping himself. There is no reasoning with a werewolf.

“Stupefy!” James shouts, gesturing wildly with his wand. The earthen tunnel is lit up red. James keeps running, faster now, even though Moony is no longer on his heels. James feels awful. Stunning his own friend. Of course it was self defense, and of course it’s got to be justified, but James staggers into the moonlight feeling only guilt. 

He doesn’t like remembering the next events: seeing Sirius standing in between McGonagall and Dumbledore, white faced, or Snape accusing both James and Sirius of murder: spouting all sorts of slurs and hate against Moony, against  _ Remus.  _

James covers his face with his hands as he wanders towards them. He removes them and they are red instead of brown: all red with blood. 

A preferable end to the night would be some healing potions, his glasses fixed, and a sleeping draught to make it all go down easy. Madam Pomfrey sees to James, just as she sees to Snape (bruises all over his arms and a gash on his neck), but then they’re invited to a non-optional meeting in Dumbledore’s office. 

James’s head is still aching. His eyesight is still blurry. Everything hurts, even though he’s all cleaned up and not bleeding anymore. James sits next to Snape, on the other side of Sirius, even though he’d like to be as far away from the both of them as possible. Dumbledore regards them coolly.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Snape, Mr. Potter,” He begins, “How on earth did this situation come to be?”

“Black.” Snape says. “It was Black. He told me to go touch the knot on the base of the tree.”

“And so you did,” Dumbledore says condescendingly, “After every warning I’ve administered, and what happened to your housemate, Mr. Gudgeon.”

“Well, yes, but because Black said that- that’s where Lupin transforms.”

“I didn’t say that.” Sirius snaps.

“Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t! I told you that everything would become clear! Did it, Snape? Were you enlightened?”

“No crosstalk, gentlemen, if you please. I will listen to Mr. Snape’s rendition of events first.”

“Black  _ told  _ me that Lupin transforms there. And so I went to find out if it was true. Which it  _ is.  _ Professor Dumbledore, I don’t feel safe with a half breed at this school.”

“Don’t call him a half breed.” Sirius hisses, “And you should keep his name out of your mouth-”

“Can I leave?” James interrupts. All three of them look over at him. Dumbledore’s eyes are incredibly piercing, making James’s mind feel even foggier, as though his thoughts aren’t necessarily his own. “Sirius told me what he told Snape, that he told him how to deal with the tree, and so I went to rescue Snape-”

“You didn’t  _ rescue  _ me-”

“ _ Yes _ , I did, and I’m tired and I have a concussion and I haven’t got anything else to say.” There is a brief, blessed silence. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter, you may leave. Take thirty points to Gryffindor for your morals and bravery.”

“Thank you,” James mumbles as he gets to his feet. His walk back to the Gryffindor tower is marked by his heavy, dragging footsteps and an incredible guilt in his chest. He wasn’t brave, he was just doing what he had to. And he can’t forget the flash of red in the tunnel, and Moony’s yelp of pain. Hexing his own best mate. Transformed into a werewolf, of course, but James still feels bad. 

He knows this had been an awful transformation for Remus. All James wants is to be there for his friend, when it’s all over, and he can’t. It’s a bad night for all involved.

**r**

Striking, incredible flashes of pain. Remus is shaking, he thinks, like a fever has overtaken him. Ever since he’d been bitten, his blood feels like poison, or petrol, like you could hold a match to him and go up in flames. Remus feels like he’s on fire.

He makes a weak whimpering sound. Desperate. All he wants is for the pain to stop. Why is he hurting like this? Where had his friends been? Where is he? There’s no splintered wood underneath him, not like usual. There’s dirt. Earth. Is he outside? A flare of awful panic wells up in his chest. He had escaped from the shack.

Remus begins to cry. Everything feels wrong. Instead of memories from last night, he has scars to chalk up what had happened. Moments of out of control mania. It’s hours before someone comes for him (at least, it feels like it.) It isn’t Madam Pomfrey, either. It’s Professor McGonagall. Remus throws up when she tries to get him to move, and his head pounds with aching dizziness.

“What happened?” He asks. “Why am I here? What happened?” McGonagall does not answer him until they return to the castle. The infirmary does not house the usual quiet, cool comfort. It feels clinical to Remus. Goosebumps on his scarred skin as he wraps a scratchy blanket tighter around himself, thinking of better days, of summertime, when Sirius had not broken his trust, when Sirius had been the  _ only _ person he trusted as they would share a spliff in the back garden, shoeless, feeling the warm earth and grass under their feet.

Not like the cold ground rubbed into Remus’s bleeding wounds this morning. 

McGonagall leaves after her explanation of the events that had taken place the previous night, and Remus is left to lie to Madam Pomfrey, as though that’s what he wants to do this morning. 

“It seemed that you were getting better,” Pomfrey says. She’s sitting next to Remus’s bed looking worried. “I mean, you were hardly in here! You seemed fine after the transformations!”

“I dunno,” Remus mumbles. “Stress, like.”

“Are you stressed?”

“Who isn’t?” Remus snaps. She understands that he doesn’t want to talk, after that. His forearms have been covered with salve and then bandaged so he won’t scratch at the cuts to infect them even further. Remus wants a fag. Remus wants Sirius, then doesn’t, and then does all over again. 

This summer had been too good to be true. Remus remembers Sirius talking about moving far, far away and how Remus hadn’t told him that Wales has been and always will be  _ his  _ home: soft, rolling hills and a green grey landscape which has welcomed him and held him without any judgement for years and years. His parents have put down roots in Mold, whether they liked it or not, and now Hope is buried there, in a little cemetery atop a hill. 

Sirius says that Remus is home, but Sirius has been raised in inner London, away from other people,  _ normal  _ people, for Mary’s been raised in London too but could tell you her favorite restaurants, parks, shops to buy drinks from that don’t ask your age. That’s home: memorizing streets that you walk on in the darkness, drunk and high, stumbling footsteps, singing a song inside your head. And you’re safe, because you know exactly where you are.

Walking streets you would know if someone blindfolded you, spun you around, and sent you forth into the world. Hogwarts, yes, is home, but it’s not like biking back from Wrexham with a buzz and a beautiful boy pumping pedals in front of you.

Remus dreams of home, this morning. 

A small, cluttered house with a dad and a dog, and a kitchen with no food but lots of tea, and an overgrown garden with magical weeds that wrap round your ankles and muggle ones that turn into flowers, so can they really be considered weeds if they’re that beautiful?

Remus decides he’ll forgive Sirius, because nothing bad had happened, and he's in a sort of dazed state where the repercussions haven’t really hit him yet. Not that he could have killed Snape, or even worse bitten him, or that Remus himself could have been dead before sunrise, frozen in a Ministry morgue. 

Remus doesn’t consider himself actively suicidal but also knows he wouldn’t mind too much if things had turned out like that. Snape dead, Remus dead, two annoying buggers killed with one stone thrown by an inexperienced Sirius Black.

Marlene is the first one to visit, having not heard about last night's events, only that Remus was in the hospital wing after a particularly bad moon. She comes bearing chocolate and Remus’s current endeavor into literature: Thomas Hobbes’  _ Leviathan _ . She takes in Remus’s battered form and doesn’t overstay the very lacking welcome he’d given her. 

He tells her he loves her, she says the same with an earnest smile, and then instructs him to get some rest. Remus spends the rest of the day reading one of the most depressing social commentaries he’s ever had the delight to lay eyes on. Hobbes, similar to Remus, is a pessimist, and Remus takes great joy in reading the line:

_ Life outside society would be solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. _

Truer words have never been written. 


	84. [YR 6] Deep End

_ don’t think i care if you can’t sleep _

**r**

Sirius keeps Remus up in the night. Sirius keeps everyone up in the night.

Screaming in the night, loud and hoarse before he realizes what’s happening, and then Remus can hear him gasp for breath, can imagine him holding himself in a hug, then hears him crying: loud and panicked at first, but then softer once he gets it under control.

Remus can’t sleep either. Remus hardly ever sleeps through the night when Sirius isn’t there. 

And now he feels a strange obligation to go join Sirius in bed, for they’re only sleeping apart because Remus has pushed Sirius into a cold place, a place where Remus speaks to him like an acquaintance and doesn’t hold any time for him. They don’t kiss, hardly touch, no sex at all, no sleeping in the same beds. It’s like first year again. All they are is sort of friends. 

Remus will forgive him, yes. Of course he will. He’s being  _ civil,  _ at least, the two of them are still talking. But forgiveness starts with moving across the darkened bedroom and pushing back Sirius’s heavy curtains. Taking his tearful face in his hands, telling him he loves him and that it’ll be okay.

Remus doesn’t quite feel comfortable doing this yet. 

He’d spent the whole day after the moon essentially hiding in the hospital wing and only left after dinnertime, hungry but too sore to walk down to the kitchens to get himself food. Maybe Peter would have some to spare. 

Remus dragged his aching body up towards the tower, and felt a rush of revulsion as a gaggle of fourth year girls passed by him, chatting loudly and giggling as they swept past him.

“Evening,” He mumbled, seeing one of them stare openly at the scars across his face. None of them replied, maybe one of them squeaked a quick “hello!”, but they were very quickly on their way. Remus sighed. 

He thought about his scars and the one he’d acquired straight across his cheek over the summer, as though there was any fucking room left on his face for more of them. 

Maybe that was why the first years seemed so scared of him this year. The new scar wasn’t flattened out and white yet. It was still red and sharp against his summer tanned skin. It made him look completely monstrous and unlike himself.

Only in those moments where Sirius runs his thumb over it and kisses his face, that’s when Remus feels okay about it. Sirius seems to love his scars, especially the one cutting his jaw. Remus used to be much more insecure about them before he and Sirius started dating.

This was just another reason why what Sirius had done wouldn’t change things between them. Not permanently, at least. Remus finally reached the Gryffindor tower and mumbled the new password that Lily had picked out ( _ not  _ in Welsh, not ever again). The dorms posed a very uncomfortable scene. 

Of course, James had put a Yes record on despite everyone else’s hatred for the band. Well, Peter claimed to like them. Remus hadn’t seen James all day and it became apparent as to why once he entered the dorm. There was a bandage around his head, making his hair even more of a disaster, and Remus saw more plasters on his forearms. His brown eyes were very wide behind his glasses.

“You okay, Prongs?”

“You know me, very thick skull.” James knocked against the side of his head gently, unintentionally demonstrating how delicate his skull genuinely was. “Just a little concussion. No big issue.”

“Sorry to hear it, mate.” 

“Hiya Remus.” Peter said.

“Hi, Pete, how are you?”

“Doing well, how about yourself?”

“Right as rain,” Remus replied stupidly, “Have you anything to eat, by any chance? I missed dinner.” He stepped across the dorm, glancing over at Sirius, who was sitting on his bed and quietly reading his book while chewing his lip, studiously not looking at Remus. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ve got some crisps here…” Peter started digging around his things while Remus gave Sirius a pointed look. 

“Alright, Padfoot?” Sirius looked over the top of his book very slowly, grey eyes unsure.

“Hi, Moony. I’m, er, I’m really sorry. Like really, really, really, sorry.” He sat up, then, closing the book that clearly hadn’t been read and brushed his hair behind his shoulders: one of Remus’s first and favorite fixations about him, his long and thick hair. “I never meant- I never meant anyone to get hurt, you know, not you, or James,” He gestured at James’s bed, “Not any of you.”

“Just Snape.” Remus provided. 

“Well, yes.” Sirius admitted rather honestly. “Just Snape. But not you, I’m really, god, I’m so sorry. Genuinely, and honestly, and I was going to visit you in the hospital wing but I thought you needed space, and I’d-  _ fuck,  _ Moony, if I could turn back time I would, because I’m  _ so  _ sorry, I didn’t think it would end up like this, I know how angry you must be-”

“Sirius.” Remus snapped, cutting him off. There was an extremely long jam solo taking place in the background of their conversation. Remus fucking  _ hated  _ Yes. “Stop apologizing. This isn’t about you. Just say you’re sorry, mean it, and then be done with it. Christ. Those crisps Peter?”

Remus had effectively silenced Sirius for the night, and the boy had done a pathetic show of retreating into his bed, closing the curtains, and not speaking to anyone for the remainder of the night. Remus lies awake in bed that night with aching bones and listens to Sirius cry silently, alone.

It is not just his bones that ache. It is a powerlessness and a pride that Remus assumes he’s adopted from his father: chin up, mouth shut. Remus had been taught at a young age how to keep secrets. He remembers Platform 9 ¾ in the yellow tinted sepia of memories and his mother’s nervous green eyes, how she said “I love you, Remus” and how his father had knelt down to look him dead in the eyes and told him that bad, bad things would happen if anyone found out.

Not a threat, just the truth. Watch Remus lie without success for a year, watch his friends convince him to trust them, watch Sirius Black capture his heart with those studded eyes and big grins, and then watch him break it. Watch Remus lie in a darkened dormitory and listen to his boyfriend sob himself hoarse mere feet away.

Pride, cowardice, avoidance. Hereditary traits. 

Remus wonders if his dad has taught him anything good, other than how to read a book, how to wave his wand and speak the proper incantation, how to pull weeds from the garden, how to never ask for help, to keep all of his issues locked inside, to keep a secret. 

Two boys cry themselves back to sleep that night. 

**s**

The nightmares are quite shameful things in the same way that they are not easily dislodged, and Sirius will start awake in the nighttime full of intense, raw panic that’s rabid with gnashing teeth and flickering eyes.

His mum will stand over him in a version of home that’s more closely adjacent to hell, and she will point her wand at him with unshaking hands and torture him, and at first it is just torture, but then she starts making a checklist out of the Unforgivable Curses. Under Imperius, Sirius will take a knife to his wrists and the dream will be stained red as he cuts himself the way Remus does, except Sirius doesn’t want to, has  _ never  _ wanted to, and then he dies.

Crucio is a bright white because that’s all he sees as he lies on the ground in ringing agony. Ringing, ringing, ringing- louder than anything in the world. Coherency is gone. Logic is gone. Sirius relives the worst night of his life in perfect, painful clarity. At long last, his body and mind give up, and he dies.

The last curse, the simplest one, takes but a moment. Sirius knows it’s coming. He stands in front of his mother and screams the same words he uttered that fateful night:  _ It hurts being fucking cognitive sometimes because you make me hate myself for being different than you!  _ Instead of torture, his mother utters the forbidden words, and there is a flash of green again and Sirius dies.

He always dies. Wakes up screaming and sobbing, because Sirius is afraid. Remus says he is unconquerable and that he is fearless, but Sirius does not like to imagine dying at the hands of his mother. Sirius misses Remus, and he feels awful, so awful, so he keeps crying because there is no hope in this world. 

Sirius thinks it would be nice and sort of polite to  _ stop _ crying, but every time he tries to stop, the nightmare returns in full color. A film he paid for and now can’t walk out of.  _ Fuck.  _ Sirius’s lip wobbles and the tears return, a fresh batch.

He tries to hold back those pathetic noises of despair that he apparently can’t stop making but it makes his chest hurt so badly that even  _ more  _ tears arrive, and he stuffs his face in his pillow as some means of comfort that still doesn’t work. Then, a better dream comes true: the curtains twitch and a shape appears, dark skin blending with the darkness of their nighttime bedroom so it’s James, not Remus, but it’s  _ someone. _

“Hey, Pads, what’s up?” James asks miserably. He shuts the curtains behind him and sits on the edge of Sirius’s bed. The expression on his face is one that Sirius hates to see: drawn eyebrows, drooping mouth, an expression that says  _ Something is wrong and now, whether you like it or not, we are going to discuss it.  _

“I dunno,” Sirius sobs in a broken voice, wiping his eyes and wondering if there is any way to stop these tears, “Nightmares. Where I’m dying. I always die. And that’s okay,” His voice is completely wobbly with tears, “I’m not afraid of  _ dying,  _ I’m afraid of my  _ mum  _ killing me.” Sirius hasn’t referred to her as  _ mum  _ out loud for a long time and the use of this childish term makes him feel even more awful. 

“Oh, Padfoot.” James’s voice is impossibly, infuriatingly gentle. “You never have to see her again.”

“Only in my fucking dreams.”

“Pads, you can get dreamless sleep draught, if you need it. Moony used to take it back when…” James trails off and scratches at his hair as though having realized he’d shared a little too much information about something personal.

“Back when he tried to kill himself?” James’s eyes are sharper behind his glasses. 

“I didn’t know you knew.”

“He told me at the end of third year.” Sirius clears his throat. Finally, the tears have stopped. “He tells me a lot of things.” It is here that Sirius considers the impulsive decision of telling James about those moments during the summer, about him and Remus  _ together,  _ so much more than friends, driving through London in the predawn hours where the world is not as it ever seems, where Sirius had felt he might live forever. 

“I’m really, really sorry, Prongs. I don’t know how to show how sorry I am.”

“Time heals all,” James tells him, still looking a bit wary.

Sirius asks, “Did Moony tell  _ you  _ he tried to kill himself?” James’s eyes flicker worriedly. He shifts how he’s sitting, just for something to do.

“He, well, he came to me. He’d just cut open his arms and came crying to me for help.” Sirius hadn’t known that. “He came to me a lot. Or, he used to. About the…. cutting, you know. But he goes to you now.” They sit in a heavy silence where unspoken words settle over them.  _ He doesn’t come to either of us, now.  _

“I know you two really love each other,” James continues in a way that makes Sirius incredibly suspicious about how much James knows about their relationship, “But I’ll have you know, I… I know it’s not my place, but I’m not so angry with you. You made a stupid mistake, but you didn’t mean any real harm. And if it ever comes down to you versus Remus… I’ll always have your back, you know. You’re my brother.”

“And Remus isn’t?”

James puts it very simply. “You’re my blood.” 

James walks Sirius down to the hospital wing the next morning to get some dreamless sleep draught. It’s a rather awkward encounter, since Sirius spends very little time thinking about or discussing his mental health, but Pomfrey gives him a few small doses and tells him to come back next week for a check-in. 

Sirius attends breakfast for the first time ever in his five full years spent at Hogwarts. This does not go unnoticed by those present at the table. 

“Sirius Black, showing his mangy face in the Great Hall before nine in the morning? Mark it in the history books!” Marlene and Lily laugh at Mary’s truthful assertion. 

“Yes, hello, hello, where’s the paparazzi?” Sirius sits down opposite Mary and grins at her as he gathers some food. It’s very sad that Sirius’s favorite food is of the breakfast variety, and he’s never able to get up early enough to enjoy it. 

“So,” Marlene begins, pointing her fork at James and then moving it to Sirius. “Quidditch! Can we talk positions? James, you’re chaser, with Hyatt and Nate, I’m beater, Sirius is keeper, so all we need is another beater and a seeker?” 

“Erm.” Sirius and James say in perfect unison. Sirius had been banned from playing house Quidditch for the rest of his time at Hogwarts. This had been quite a spectacular punishment for him, especially coming from Professor McGonagall, who is an avid Quidditch fan and knows that this disruption to the team has come at a great cost.

Quidditch had been one of Sirius’s quick and productive fixes for his problems, of which he has invariably more of at this point. His usual solutions to problems can be solved by: flying on a broom, pranking someone, or snogging Remus. Two have these options have now been eliminated (for the time being, at least), and Sirius is left with one rather unproductive and immature choice left.

“I’ve been kicked off the team,” Sirius admits, for he doesn’t feel like lying this morning. There is a resounding silence. 

Marlene asks slowly and with a purpose, “McGonagall kicked you off?” She looks at James for confirmation. “You’re captain, James, how could you let that happen?”

“It’s a bit out of my control.”

“Sirius, what did you do?” Marlene turns on him now with blue eyes flashing.

“Not something I’m liable to discuss.” All three girls are glaring at him across the table. As if Mary and Lily give a toss about Quidditch! “Sorry to have let you down, ladies. Don’t tell me you expected more from me?”

**j**

James Potter is, and has always been a worrier. It must have been something inherited from his mum: having only one child works like that, as though if you worry enough about them they will magically live a perfect and unburdened life, and so far, James has been doing pretty well. James doesn’t worry about trivial things, he isn’t  _ anxious,  _ and he is thankful for that. 

He worries about his two best friends and the rift growing between them as Sirius spends his nights having dreams about flashes of green light that mean nothing but hate, and fear, and death while Remus pulls away from them and once more disappears into the field of academics: picking up Prefect patrols and conducting tutoring sessions with his Hufflepuff friend Julie. 

James isn’t so much worried about what Sirius will do. The dreamless sleep draughts help him, as they’d helped Remus, but Remus is the one currently lacking support and thrust into a situation most awful and uncomfortable for him. Remus does what he does best: withdraws. 

James decides to check in with him one morning as they head down to another Sirius-free breakfast. Remus fumbles with his tie as they head downstairs, yawning widely as they reach the deserted common room. James makes his move. 

“Could I talk to you, just quickly?” Remus raises his eyebrows but nods and shrugs at the same time, apparently a  _ yes.  _ “Erm, I know ever since, you know, Sirius did what he did, it’s been… I dunno, you two are really close,  _ were  _ really close, and things are a bit different. And if you ever feel like… ah, Merlin, like really  _ sad  _ or anything, you know I’m here.”

“Oh, yes.” Remus says. “Of course.” James nods. Remus bares his teeth in a very odd smile. “I’m okay,” he continues, as an afterthought. “I’m er, I’m alright. Is Sirius, though?”

“Is he what?”

“Okay?”

“Oh!” James scratches his hair as a force of habit. “He’s… well, you know. He feels bad.” Sirius evidently feels more than bad, but has been very withdrawn ever since Remus had snapped at him in the dormitory, and spends most of his time away from Remus. “He’ll be alright, though, this isn’t about him.” 

“I really don’t want it to be about me, though.” Remus explains. “I don’t like when something is  _ my  _ problem. I wish this had never happened. Now it’s all about me, or all about Sirius, and it’s fucking stupid. I hate fighting. I wish this shit had never happened in the first place. I’m not going to kill myself. It’s fine.” James is left feeling sort of silly as Remus continues through the common room. He climbs out of the portrait hole without waiting for James, and James lets him.

Breakfast does not seem quite as appealing with this odd, hovering awkwardness between them, and so James sits on his favorite sofa in the common room and has a good hard think about the entire situation at hand. 

Of course Remus doesn’t want attention. He’s Remus Lupin, for god’s sake, he has this habit of disappearing into the background of his own life, as though seeing himself in the mirror would be a great shock to the system. James knows how much trouble he has ever admitting that things have gone wrong in his life, especially when so  _ many _ things go wrong in his life, and James knows that he is not wrong for trying to help, just unsuccessful.

James hears footsteps on the stairs heading down to the common room and sits up straighter, not wanting to look as though he’s fallen on the same pathetic times as his friends. Lily and Marlene have descended the stairs and both look at him curiously.

“Hello,” James says, standing up and smoothing his robes. “Good morning.”

“Morning, James, you seem a bit subdued.” Marlene is the one who speaks to him, since Lily has been very wary of him ever since fifth year ended and sixth began, and this is yet another reason that James spends his days feeling exhausted because love has been lost and he’s only had one miserable, off and on relationship in his life and would like to think he’s deserving of another. 

Though, honestly, he does not deserve Lily Evans.

“Worried about Quidditch trials, I think, they’re later this year so it’s a bit tense, a bit close, you know?” 

“Yeah, but you’ll be fine. Can’t believe you’ve made captain. Very exciting!”

“Definitely.” But James does not smile at Marlene, and he hardly feels excited about trials at all. Amidst all this tension, James is still too young and naive to realize that it will never go away. Sirius had unknowingly set the ball rolling and created a series of events that will flood sixth year, spill through seventh and then on into the future, where years are not counted up by one but instead will be 1978, 1979, on and on as the strain develops and people start to give in, give up, to  _ give  _ under the weight of a sixteen year old’s poor decision making.

James himself can be many things all at once: a leader, a mediator, a captain, a coward, a bully. There is no role he enjoys more than that of chaser, however. Quidditch will always be his one true calling, and there is a certain lightness in his chest as he, Marlene, and Hyatt walk down to the pitch that afternoon as old friends, teammates, and those without complicated drama in their lives. 

Hyatt Ibex has been playing Gryffindor Quidditch since his second year and is now in his seventh and plays even better than James does. He should have been captain this year, James knows, and thinks that he was only appointed the position by McGonagall as a means to keep him out of trouble. 

The turnout this year is not overwhelming but still good, and James finds himself ecstatic at the raw possibility of being in charge. The power is somewhat alarming. James, Marlene, Hyatt, and Nate stand in front of the crowd of Gryffindors. James puts his hands on his hips and beams at them.

“Hello all! I’m James Potter, a sixth year, and I’m captain this year. Right now, we only have open positions for a beater, a seeker, and a keeper. Marlene here,” He gestures at the girl who waves at the crowd, “Is our other beater, a true menace on the pitch, and Hyatt and Nate are our other chasers. Shall we get started?” 

Quidditch has always been very simple and fast and enjoyable. The October air is crisp with a biting chill when you speed up on your broom, and James loses himself for a moment, soaring wide over the edges of the pitch, beyond where the stands are and out where the grounds become wild and unfamiliar. The Forbidden Forest is alive with color: burnt orange, russet red, bruised yellow: autumn and beautiful, James’s favorite season. 

He speeds back around to the pitch where a younger girl slams a bludger hard enough for the bat to crack out loud. She’s very short, sort of stout, and has neat auburn hair tied back so he can see the fire in her eyes. Young, yes, but clearly talented. 

A boy who had been messing about on his broom dodges the bludger deftly, laughing out loud in shock, and demonstrating the ever fabled sloth grip roll that had tanked James’s Quidditch career during second year.

“Oi!” He shouts, pointing at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Tom!” He laughs out his name, grinning at the girl, and then at James. “Tom Kiely.” 

“Mind being our seeker, Tom?” Tom’s face turns into one of openmouthed celebration, and he pumps his fist in the air as James asks the younger girl her name and appoints her beater. Their new team finally fleshes out: fourth year Tom as seeker, second year Juliana Dunbar is admirably made beater, and a somewhat admirable but halfway stupid friend of Nate’s called Stephen is made keeper.

He’s no Sirius, but he’s fearless enough to do the job well. James eats dinner with the team that night, finding refuge in the always-familiar comfort of Quidditch. Sirius is not at dinner, and Remus is sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Julie Blackstone, Jasmine Pettigrew, and an unfamiliar Hufflepuff in their year. Christ, Remus has grown desperate to get away.

James has his Quidditch family, of course, and it changes every year but still stays the same in the way that they love each other. But deep down, there is a harbored worry in his chest that Sirius has ruined things permanently. What if this is forever? Sitting at different tables for dinner, snapping at each other, sitting in different places during classrooms, forgetting the friendship they’d taken five years to build together?

What if they drift apart for good? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok friends... i always thought a lot about how remus would realistically react to the Prank and tbh i don't think he was hella angry. remus 'doormat' john lupin is like the worst at holding grudges and so it would only make sense for him to want things to go back to normal. just my opinion on it but i can't imagine him being all angry & ignoring sirius for ages


	85. [YR 6] Grew Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy early halloween! just so happened that this chapter almost lines up with it lol.

_ you were the hits i took, you were the smoke in my lungs  _

_ now you’re just another sing along for lonely nights and drunken drives home _

_ and you say you’re fine without me, but you take me everywhere that you go  _

**r**

It is nighttime and Remus is lying in bed desperate, he is lying in bed sad and aching for a blade in his skin or a kiss on his lips, or anything to shock him back to life because this cannot go on any longer. The weather outside is perfect, classes are more relaxed than they had been last year, the tutoring sessions are going well: life should be good but it is anything but because of the lack of Sirius.

Remus decides that tonight is the night he will officially forgive. It is nearly November which means that this has gone on for long enough, and Sirius will turn seventeen next week and they’ll all go buy celebratory drinks at the Leaky Cauldron; Sirius celebrates his birthday with big, dramatic gusto because there’s never any letters or gifts from home and Remus wants to make him feel loved on a day as important as that one. 

It is a quick motion full of instinct, the way he moves across the bedroom. Sirius’s curtains are velvety and thick under his fingers, and Remus takes a deep breath before shaking the curtains around and drawing them back. 

Sirius is curled up on his side and reading something by the light of his wand. He starts when Remus pulls back the curtain and folds up the paper very quickly, stuffing it behind his pillow and sitting up. He’s been crying: hair falling in his face, eyes all red, cheeks still with tear tracks tracing down them. 

Remus says, “I forgive you, Sirius, I love you.” Sirius looks all wrong in this light. His face is sharp and cut against the darkness of the draperies around him, and his hair spills like an inkstain down his shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t.” This, too, is unlike Sirius. Remus had been expecting some sort of sulkiness upon entry, but had not expected Sirius to be so in denial of forgiveness. “I betrayed your trust, properly.”

“And I forgive you.” Sirius is wary and worried. This is not how he usually acts, he is usually vibrant and youthful. There should be a humor as sharp as knives on his tongue, a wicked look in his color changing eyes, a sly smile on his face. Sirius Black is sex appeal, silver earrings, a leather jacket that smells like woodsmoke and drink, he’s sixteen and full of big bold adult personality and tonight he’s small and hurt. 

Remus apologizes. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius asks him. “It’s not you who should be sorry.  _ I’m  _ sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, you’ve  _ been _ sorry, I’m sorry that you’re sad, now.”

“I deserve to be sad!”

“I don’t want you to be, Sirius, just forget about it, forget it ever happened, please, could we do that?” Remus feels as though he is pleading. Remus  _ is  _ pleading. This is ridiculous. “Could we just forget?”

“Should we talk about it, first?” A mature way to direct the conversation but Remus doesn’t want to talk. He had felt what there was to feel: hot betrayal, incredible shame, vicious distaste and hatred, then turned it on himself, then buried it behind his heart where it pulses with his blood in smaller doses so he can process it in a healthier way.

Remus is done with talking. He kisses Sirius hard, straddling him, one hand cupping his face and the other tracing up his thigh. Sirius barely kisses back, his mouth moving weakly, and his body remains stiff and unmoving as Remus palms him. 

“Stop,” Sirius mumbles, ducking a kiss, “Not tonight.” Remus had been expecting something like what had happened in the summertime, reunion sex except better, since this would be  _ makeup  _ sex. Remus had been dreaming about Sirius’s affection: his sultry blue eyes, spit slicked lips, or else the way he rocks his hips up and moans Remus’s name with no regard for who might be around them.

“What’s wrong?” Remus tilts his head to catch Sirius’s eyes as the other boy shifts away from him. 

“I’m just not in the mood tonight.” 

“Do you want me to shout at you, Sirius, would that help? A good fight?”

“Yes!” Sirius swallows hard, chewing at his lip and working his fingers through his hair. He is so similar to James when nervous: always moving, shifting, finding something to do in hopes of easing the tension. Remus is the opposite, goes still as a picture so maybe he will be overlooked and then forgotten about. “Yes, Moony, can we have a fight?”

“I don’t want to have a fight.”

“Please, just shout at me about something. Anything. Punch me!” Sirius tilts his chin up. “There, please, I’ve got quite a punchable face! Wait, nevermind, don’t.  _ Ugh _ , I wish I wasn’t sober right now.” 

“Sirius…” 

“Why aren’t you angry with me?”

“Sirius, what do you want me to say? What, do you want to be punished?” Remus snaps. “And not in a seuxal way, jesus christ, Sirius, you’ve  _ been  _ punished- you have detentions until you die, basically, you’re off the bloody Quidditch team for the rest of your time here, McGonagall and Dumbledore have lost what little respect they had for you,  _ I’ve  _ lost an incredible amount of trust for you, and even James is being cold to you! Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Sirius nods. He has now gone very still, and nods again, looking back up at Remus with those pool grey eyes, eyes that change color in the right light but are now wrong. This is a strange situation, completely something out of Remus’s depth, and he feels, incredibly, as though Sirius is manipulating him; indeed, it is something that Sirius has been raised to do by a narcissistic mother with emotionally abusive tactics that run deep. 

Why is Remus the one feeling bad for Sirius when it should be the other way around?

Sirius asks, “Can we go to sleep? That’ll make it better, if we just go to sleep,” and Remus agrees since they won’t have to talk, or find themselves on the verge of punching one another, because physical violence does a much better job of solving problems than sitting in the darkness and insulting each other. But if sex won’t do the job, then words will have to.

“Sirius,” Remus says, “Sirius. I’m going to try to move past this, okay? I forgive you. Please understand that. You’ve been punished, I hope you’ll learn your lesson, but I’m over it, okay? I would very much like to move on.”

“Okay.” Sirius’s voice is quiet. “Okay, Moony. Let’s go to sleep.”

There is a warmth they generate while together that Remus has missed more than anything. He curls around Sirius, legs tangling together, and Remus wraps his arms tight around Sirius’s middle, rests his chin in the curve of his shoulder, and there they fall asleep in under ten minutes, no tossing and turning nor worrying. 

Remus wakes up thinking he’s in a dream, curled up around the boy he loves. Sirius’s hair is thick and hot in Remus’s face, now in his mouth, and Remus pulls it off of his tongue as he sweeps Sirius’s hair off of his neck and then kisses him: once, twice, three times. Sirius is still sleepy, just waking up, and mumbles something softly as Remus kisses him again. 

Sirius’s skin has a wet sheen of sweat over it; his hair gets hot in the night and is usually sweaty in the mornings, and Remus’s heightened body heat leaves the both of them smelly and sweat stained in the mornings, but Sirius smiles as he wakes up, opens his eyes, turns to kiss Remus fully on the lips. 

“Hi,” Remus whispers as he smiles against Sirius’s lips, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Moonbeam.” It is as though last night had never taken place. Sirius sits up in bed, dragging a hand through his long hair, working out tangles with his fingers. He shakes out his hair, cracks his neck from side to side, and then turns his grey eyes on Remus. There is a hint of something worried behind them, something leftover from the strange and unfamiliar confusion of last night, but it disappears smoothly.

“Do you fancy a shower?” 

The water is warm and leaves them steam drenched. Remus runs his hand up Sirius’s thigh; feels the solid layer of muscle in the middle and the soft fat on the inner thigh, then his cock, hard in the warmth of the morning. Remus wraps his fingers around it and kisses Sirius as he moves his hand fast and then faster. 

“Ughn,” Sirius huffs, tilting his sharp jaw up as he stops kissing back, starts breathing very heavily as Remus’s hand squeezes, pulls hard, then Sirius comes and his body shakes as his back is pressed up against the cold tiled wall of the tiny shower. Then, repayment. Sirius sinks to his knees, runs his hands along Remus’s thighs, the silvery scars raised up on his skin, and then takes his cock in his mouth.

Sirius is good at this, always has been, the way he swirls his tongue over the tip at first before taking all of Remus in his mouth. Both of them moan for different reasons but all Remus can think of is the pleasure. Sirius’s tongue and mouth work while Remus curls his fingers through Sirius’s soaking hair, all warm and wet and undeniably  _ sexy _ for no good reason at all. 

“Ohh,” Remus groans as he comes, hands shaking in Sirius’s hair, the boy below him swallows obediently and looks up at Remus through glossy, sultry eyes, those eyes that Remus had been desperate to see last night and is now just grateful to see at all. They clean up, dry off, put their robes on and separate for classes.

They make up. The mistakes of the past are put behind them. Remus does not want to remember what Sirius had done, the heartless and thoughtless behaviors that Remus had not thought him quite capable of, and now they go to classes and continue living life as though the month of October had only been a bump in the road. 

Their last class of the day on Friday is Herbology, and Remus conveniently sneaks around towards where his ‘personal oregano’ is growing. Professor Sprout is giving a generally dry lecture about Nightshade, and is currently answering an overwhelming amount of questions asked by some goody-two-shoes Ravenclaw. Grateful for the distraction, Remus quietly moves over to where he’s left the mushrooms to grow.

He waves his wand, wordlessly raising the glamours cast on the faux oregano, and peers down at the mushrooms sprouting up inside the jar; they look rather healthy, from the little personal knowledge Remus has about mushrooms, and he assumes that in a few more months, they’ll be ready to harvest. Another wave of the wand, a spark of magic in his chest, and the jar has oregano in it instead. 

Benjy and Sirius are laughing together as Remus slides back to their table, giving them a quizzical look. Benjy just shakes his head at him and Remus rolls his eyes before returning to the lesson at hand. Benjy has taken his whole look one step farther this summer, and has dyed his black mohawk blue out of some sort of misguided Ravenclaw pride. He grins at Remus, who is busy potting his Nightshade and trying to avoid any suspicion.

“I know what you’re up to, just so you know,” Benjy tells him in quite a friendly tone after they leave class. “Caradoc told me, and Sirius just so happened to point it out. Growing shrooms is one thing, but mucking about with them in class? Very fun stuff. You’re a true rebel, Lupin.” 

“Ah, cheers, Benjy, please don’t tell anyone?” Benjy laughs out loud. 

“What, afraid you’ll lose your Prefect-ship?” 

“Minnie loves me far too much to do that,” Remus responds, “And she’s kept me on this far, hasn’t she?”

“Strictest out of all the heads of house, that one is.” Benjy looks thoughtful. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.” They’re walking across the grounds rather aimlessly; the late October weather is surprisingly fair and Benjy invites them to go hang out by the lake. “Caradoc’s meeting me there,” He tells them as the three of them make their way down to the shore. 

Benjy and Caradoc’s relationship is another one that has never been explicitly expressed to the rest of Hogwarts, but they aren’t as quiet about it as Remus and Sirius are, and when they find Caradoc sitting amongst the roots of a tree and smoking a cigarette, Benjy pulls him close and kisses him on the lips; it is brief but defiant. 

“So,” Caradoc says as they settle down around him, “Who wants to hear my ideas for Halloween? I’ve got big plans this year.” He grins wickedly. Sirius prompts him to continue. 

**j**

James sits with Marlene, Peter, and Hyatt during the Halloween Feast, the latter of whom had somewhat found himself back in their friend group as him and Marlene are quite close, and Lily has finally returned to friendly terms with him. 

Marlene, as it happens, has become one of James’s best friends. They had bonded over the Quidditch World Cup, since camping in small quarters usually leads to making friends or else it wouldn’t really be so much fun, as Dorcas had brought a muggle tent (a three person one, but still muggle), and the four of them had all squashed into it to play cards, drink, and talk late into the night. 

The morning after the cup, where England had made a very close victory against Mozambique, James had learned more about his friends than he had really been planning on. James had barely slept, in fact, and had spent most of the night getting plastered as Marlene’s older brothers were providing drinks and none of them seemed fit on stopping anytime soon; the British had been partying all night long while the Mozambicans also drank, just for different reasons.

At sometime between four and five, in those hours where the world seems to slow and stop, James had poked his head out of his tent to see the world in a cold grey haze. He had hesitated to make any noise, as it seems that all the partiers had finally fallen asleep or lost consciousness. It had been a slow job of untangling himself from the tent, and he’d tiptoed across the dew-soft grass to Dorcas and Marlene’s muggle tent, eager to see if either were awake to find some breakfast or just take a walk around the massive campground.

James hadn’t knocked, for he’s not sure even  _ how  _ you knock on the flap of a tent, and then unzipped a little ways of the door to see Dorcas and Marlene doing things that two best friends usually  _ don’t  _ do, this being kissing, lying down, hands in each others long hair, completely tuned out to the boy standing there watching them. 

James had said “ooh, sorry!” and they hadn’t even sprung apart like expected, they were twined together like magnets, and James had stumbled backwards into the cool morning, tripped over a tent stake, and gone down on his arse in the muddy damp grass around them. Breakfast had consisted of tinned beans and sausages, and it had been a rather awkward affair, as a clueless Peter had been there just as well and no explaining had taken place at all.

It had been later, when Marlene and James had been picking up rubbish not for fun but for morally aligned purposes that Marlene had brought it back up, as James was content to never think about those events ever again. 

“James,” She began, a little hesitant, “About me and Dorcas, you’re not… you don’t  _ care _ , do you?”

“No, no, not at all.” James felt as though bringing up Sirius being gay was probably not the best course of events and had so left that information out of his response. “It’s jolly good, Marlene, I’m happy for you!” She’d looked at him with a halfway smile, trying to figure out if he was serious, and apparently made her decision.

“You’re a good sort, James. You really are.” 

Tonight, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, headed by one James Potter, have orchestrated a Halloween party in the common room to promote happiness, as James had called it, and also to give the younger kids some inclusion into Gryffindor life. James and Peter had been the ones to sneak into Hogsmeade to buy alcohol, and they’re the ones (along with Hyatt, Marlene, and the rest of the team) in charge of decorating the common room, spinning the music, providing snacks, and all around ensuring a good night for all.

James feels much like Edgar Bones and is surprised at how much he can adapt to this new role: older, cooler student who buys the younger ones drinks and is looked up to, talked about, and fabled for it. It’s a position that he is happy to be in, a little nostalgic about, and also feels somewhat bitter towards, mostly in the way that Sirius and Remus seem to have made up overnight and now do everything together, as though attached at the hip, and seem to find no time to include James on all their fun going-ons. 

Currently, the two of them are very much red eyed and liquid limbed, stuffing themselves full of Halloween puddings and laughing very loudly as they talk to Mary and Lily. James is glad that they are happy, and sad that they chose to be happy without him in the picture.

James doesn’t know if he’s seen them sober since Friday, and is halfway worried about it and halfway wonders if he should take up smoking weed to fit in with them. 

“You reckon we should get ready?” Marlene asks. She and James have chosen to do matching outfits- James as Dumbledore and Marlene as McGonagall. Hyatt had the curious idea of trying to do a Madam Hooch look, and Peter has been roped into wearing an Engorgio-ed potato sack to look like Professor Sprout. All in all, the costumes are going to be a proper laugh, and James and Peter giggle at themselves like girls once finally dressed. 

James has enchanted some dress robes of his to change colors: warping blues and purples with assorted changing shapes on them, and has cast some spellwork on his hair to turn it long and white, and then affixed a scratchy fake beard to his face. The same spellwork had been used on Peter’s hair, which is now grey and curly, long down his neck. They are laughing out loud at themselves as Remus and Sirius stumble in, grinning widely, and bursting into a fresh set of laughter as they catch sight of James and Peter. 

“What in the fresh hell is _this_?!” Sirius gasps out, gesturing widely at them. “Look at you two!” Remus is laughing so hard that he can barely speak. “Where’s your camera, Pete- er, sorry, Professor Sprout?” 

“Professor Sprout!” Remus echoes, collapsing onto Sirius’s bed as Sirius grabs Peter’s camera out of his hands and starts snapping photos at the pair of them. “You two look  _ delicious _ !” He roars, chancing another look before losing his mind all over again. 

“I need to change,” Sirius says, throwing Peter’s camera back at him and not caring that he fumbles and nearly drops it. “Minnie wanted me looking smart for detentions, but I cannot be wearing this all evening…” He kicks off his trousers as Remus mumbles an agreement, as he’s wearing his house robes for a Prefect meeting. Remus doesn’t share the public changing sentiment and shuts himself in the bathroom while Sirius staggers around in his pants, trying to find his skinny jeans.

Remus reappears rather quickly, his hair a staticky mess, wearing his usual brown corduroys and dark red jumper. He smiles once again at the sight of James and Peter, and sits down at the edge of his bed to lace his boots while Sirius jumps into his trousers.

“No costume, Moony?” James asks.

“I’m a werewolf,” Remus replies drily, “Awooo!” Sirius snickers loudly, and even Peter laughs. “Sirius is a punk.” James glances over at Sirius, now sitting at the edge of his bed, swinging his heavy boots back and forth. Remus and Sirius catch each other's eyes, and they both smile. 

“Cool…” James returns to the mirror to give himself one last look. He checks Remus and Sirius in it, seeing their reflections still smiling at one another, and Remus is the first to break eye contact, glancing over at James as though worried or startled. Sirius is still staring at him. 

“I’m going to head down now, I’ll see you later.” James tells them. Remus just nods, apparently distracted, and Sirius doesn’t reply at all. Peter is the only one with any tact to follow James downstairs. 

The party is a hit, at least. 

Marlene’s impression of McGonagall is stellar, especially since she’s already got the Scottish accent to boot, and Lily snaps photos of all of them. She’s dressed up as a muggle witch, with a black dress, tights, boots, and a pointed black hat that James always delights to see her wearing. 

James makes his usual rounds, trying to talk to anyone he can find, but a few drinks in and the only face he wants to see is Lily Evans’s, except he’s not allowed to, except he feels compelled to act like an idiot prat whenever he lays eyes on her. This happens tonight, as he sits down on the sofa next to Marlene, does a little piece where she and him have a little back and forth in their professor personas, and then he looks at Lily, who is laughing along, red faced, and beautiful.

James smiles at her. Lily smiles back. 

James says, “Is that really what the muggles think witches look like? I mean, where did they get that idea?” 

“Probably all the Hogwarts students breaking the statute of secrecy in their neighborhoods,” Lily tells him, “I’ve seen a few for myself in their robes on broomsticks, you know. They go a bit mad on Boxing Day.” James genuinely doesn’t know if she’s kidding. He asks:

“Are you joking?” Lily’s smile widens. 

“Yes, you stupid prat, I’m joking. There  _ are  _ muggle versions of witches, you know. Pagans, wiccans, it’s sort of religious.” 

“Do they dress like you?” 

“Haven’t met too many, but I’m sure they get on well with the fishnets. Sexy witches are the best witches.”

“You can say that again,” James mumbles into his drink as Marlene shoves him hard. 

“Oh, there’s Sirius and Remus!” Lily brightens as she mentions the two boys. James is unfairly jealous of how happy she is to see them, seeing as he feels a distinct sense of dismay seeing his friends stumble towards the portrait hole. He’d been the one to provide the drinks, and they’re the ones getting twisted and then leaving the party early.

“I’ll be right back,” James tells Lily and Marlene as he shoulders through the well costumed crowd and over towards the portrait hole. “Where’re you two going?” Sirius is nearly in hysterics at the mere sight of him and turns away from James, grabbing at the portrait hole. 

Remus and Sirius are holding hands, James realizes, perhaps a beat too late as Remus shakes his hand out of Sirius’s grasp and stuffs it into his pocket as he glances up at James. His amber eyes are wary. James finally puts two and two together regarding their relationship. 

“We’re, erm,” Remus’s voice is very hoarse from smoke and he coughs loudly to clear his throat while Sirius apparently starts crying with laughter, “Ca- _ ha-  _ Caradoc’s transfigured a pumpkin into a carriage, so we’re fit to go hotbox it.” Sirius has lost the ability to hold himself up straight and slumps against the wall, clutching his stomach as he laughs. 

“Oh…” James is dressed as Professor Dumbledore, clutching a bottle of beer, watching as his two best friends ditch his party to go get high in a pumpkin with other people. They are drifting, James realizes. They are moving apart. “Have fun, then.”

“You can come! If you like.” Remus offers. Sirius has turned his body fully away from James and Remus and seems to be trying to get a handle on himself. 

“No, ta, but I’m fine here.” 

“Cool, cool, well have a good night, Prongs, it was a lush party, good on you, enjoy yourself-”

“Just make sure he doesn’t get out of control, okay?” James gestures at Sirius, who seems to have lost his listening abilities. “As though he hasn’t already.” This is more grumbled under his breath, but Remus looks wide eyed and oddly earnest.

“I’ll look after him, butt, don’t worry about it.” 

“Moony, he’s already plastered-”

“I said don’t worry.” Remus’s voice has hardened, and Sirius is scrambling out of the portrait hole with little regard as for whether Remus is following him. “Enjoy your party, mate, I’ll see you tomorrow.” James watches Remus follow Sirius out of the portrait hole, calling his name, and feels a sinking feeling in his stomach as the portrait swings shut behind them.


	86. [YR 6] Your Body Is A Weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the longest chapter i've ever written & for good reason. the emotions that everyone has about the Prank are so interesting to work through.  
> cw for some unhealthy abuse of drugs & alcohol

_ someone protect me from the one i love _

**r**

“Sirius, come on, come back to us now.”

“Sirius, you dirty little tosser, wake up! Wake  _ up _ !”

“Padfoot, love, you’ve got to get up.”

The scene is set at half past two in the morning in the Hufflepuff common room, November 1st, and Sirius Black is sprawled gracelessly across the floor: grey eyes hazy and a little ways rolled back, skin clammy and cold, mumbling nonsense until he’s stopped, and is now shaking on the black and yellow rug while Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick, and Remus Lupin hover over him.

“We shouldn’t have been drinking earlier,” Remus says, “We should not have been drinking. Or smoking. I got us into this mess. Fuck,  _ fuck  _ I’m too high for this.”

“Keep your head on, Lupin.” Benjy snaps at him. 

“It’s probably just alcohol poisoning,” Caradoc adds with an air of incredible unhelpfulness. “I think we should jam our fingers down his throat and make him puke.” 

“Ew! I’m not doing it!” Benjy takes a few steps back. Sirius has slid down from where they’d propped him up against a chair onto his back, and then starts coughing. 

“Oh, no, we’d best keep him on his side.” Caradoc gently pushes Sirius onto his side as the other boy starts vomiting onto the rug. “Blast, Sprout’s going to be even more angry with me come morning. Remus, can we get him back to your dorm?” 

In between sounds of Sirius choking his guts up, Remus gives an affirmative, although it is weak and rather nervous as Sirius seems to be deteriorating on the floor. 

“...How?” Remus has asked a fair question but neither Benjy nor Caradoc have an accurate response: the former is tugging at the spikes of his mohawk and staring at Sirius’s retching form while the latter just looks incredibly perplexed; this has not been the Halloween that they had planned and all of them are regretting the copious amounts that they had to drink at Hagrid’s hut after he caught them inside one of his pumpkins.

Caradoc’s talent for Transfiguration is the stuff of legends. Remus and Sirius had crept out into the eerie dark grounds to meet Caradoc, Benjy, Danny Hunter, and the one and only Mary Macdonald. None had been dressed in any ridiculous costumes, and all had been bright eyed with toothy smiles to boot, since Caradoc had promised a show and was now expected to deliver. 

Hagrid’s biggest pumpkin had cast a shadow even in the moonlight. It was bigger than Hagrid himself. His hut had the lights on, but they’d all assumed the groundskeeper had his own plans for the night, so Caradoc had cast a few spells, and in no time flat, Sirius had been cordially helping Remus into a carriage, except a pumpkin-carriage, that had stringy pumpkin guts hanging from the ceiling and a carpet of fat seeds inside. 

There were no seats, since Caradoc hadn’t thought that far ahead, and they had all sat down on the orange smeared matting of seeds below them, and started smoking. Their faces and very strange surroundings had all gone quite hazy after a while, for the pumpkin did not house ample ventilation, and they had indeed hotboxed it; Hagrid had appeared an hour into their smoking session and taking a great big whiff of incredibly tainted air had invited them to his hut.

Mary and Danny had escaped back to the castle, fearing detention. Caradoc, Benjy, Remus, and Sirius had taken him up. After a few rock cakes that lived up to their names and quite a few mugs of red wine, they had all been properly inebriated, Sirius more than anyone as he had been day drinking all weekend long. Hagrid had not seemed to take proper notice of his condition and sent them off to bed with well wishes for the holiday, and an early happy birthday for Sirius, who was not quite capable of replying.

He’d leaned heavily on Remus their whole way back into the castle, and ended up in the Hufflepuff common room as it was the closest for him to sit down. Sirius had been generally unresponsive by their arrival, and now only seems to be getting worse. 

“Fuck.” Remus says again.

“Okay, okay,” Caradoc begins, “It’s all going to be okay. Let’s hold it together, alright? No problem, no big deal.” Sirius has rolled face-first into his own sick. Remus kneels down and pulls him back up, wiping his face off, and notices that he’s started to go rather blue. 

“His lips are blue, Caradoc, what the fuck?”

“Get him up, Remus, come on, we’re taking him to your room.” Caradoc kneels on Sirius’s other side and wraps the boy’s limp arm around his shoulders. “You take his other side,” He instructs Remus, “And up we get!” The two of them rise with Sirius dangling limply in between, his head hanging down, hair stringy and streaked with vomit. Benjy is now sitting weakly on a sofa, cupping his face with both hands as he regards the scene.

“Benjy, you okay?” Caradoc asks him.

“Yeah… I’ll wait here.” 

“You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

“No, I’m just really high.” Benjy’s face is oddly pale.

“Okay. I’ll be back soon, love, just hold it together. Come on Remus, off we go.” The journey back to the Gryffindor tower is punctuated by Caradoc talking to an unresponsive Remus about how the whole situation will mend itself and they’ll forget about this whole thing by next week. Sirius sways weakly in between them, sometimes coughing up vomit onto himself and occasionally muttering something, which Remus takes as a sign of improvement. 

There is no one left in the Gryffindor common room, save for a couple of fifth years due for nasty hangovers in the morning, and none of them so much as glance over to where Remus, Sirius, and Caradoc are. They lug Sirius up the stairs to Remus’s dorm, and finally make their entrance, which is punctuated by Sirius letting out a loud moan as he proceeds to be sick all over himself and, consequently, the floor.

“Fuck, Padfoot!” Remus swears.

“Let’s get him to the toilet,” Caradoc grunts as he pulls Sirius along; Caradoc now splattered in his friend’s vomit. Once in the bathroom, Sirius is pushed down onto the floor in front of the toilet and left to puke in there, and Remus is grateful that his boyfriend seems alert enough to understand the direction that his vomit should take. Remus sits down halfway in the shower while Caradoc flattens himself back against the mirror, because James Potter has arrived on the scene and he is  _ angry. _

In Wales, Remus is sure that Sion would call James’s attitude “tamping, fuming,  _ raging _ ” in all seriousness, but everyone would get angry if Remus brought up Welsh slang at a time like this, and so he scoots a little farther back into the shower to avoid his friend’s wrath.

“What happened?!” James shouts. “Moon- Remus, I told you to look after him!” He has turned on Remus and his dark eyes flash. He’s wearing a shirt to sleep in and his boxers, his hair is a mess, and his once-again freshly taped glasses sit crookedly on his face. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Potter,” Caradoc begins as he places a Transfigured glass of water down next to Sirius, “It’s not Remus’s fault, nor is it my fault, it’s all of our faults, we are a blameful whole, and Sirius has just had a bit too much to drink. He was worse earlier, I think he just needs to throw it up, now.”

“What do you mean he was worse earlier?”

“It was earlier, in the past, so that means we don’t need to worry about it anymore!”

“Get out, Dearborn.” James snaps. “You’re off your fucking head. Go to bed, but get out. I’ll take it from here.” Remus, from the shower, makes a weak noise of protest. 

“He’s not done anything wrong.” 

“Oh, stuff it, you!” James shouts at him. “Dearborn, go!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Caradoc holds both hands up in means of willful protest. “See you, Remus, hope you feel alright tomorrow, hope  _ Sirius  _ feels alright-” James slams the bathroom door in his face. Remus can still hear him speaking on the other side of the door, most likely to a very confused Peter. 

“Remus- what the  _ hell,  _ he’s pissed! I told you to watch out for him!”

“What, like I’m his mum? Just leave it, Prongs, go to bed, I’ll watch him tonight.”

“As if I’d trust you to do that again?”

“I’m not his fucking  _ keeper _ !” 

From the toilet, Sirius mutters, “I’m not to be kept.” 

“Sirius!” James shouts, kneeling down on the floor next to Sirius, who has started sipping the water that Caradoc had thoughtfully left for him. “Sirius, mate, are you feeling better?”

“Fuck off, James, you’re too loud. Go back to bed, I swear it. Is Moony here? I just want Moony.” James rises with a very murderous expression on his face. Remus swears he’s never seen his friend this angry before.

“Fine.” His voice is very curt. “Fine, if you want it that way. I’ll go. Good-ruddy-night.” The bathroom door slams once again, except James is on the outside, this time. Remus sighs. He’s curled around the back wall of the shower in a very uncomfortable position, but he’s so drunk and so high and thinks that he’ll fall asleep right here and now.

“Goodnight, Pads,” He tells Sirius sleepily. “See you tomorrow….”

**s**

Halloween just never ends well. It’s a known fact about Halloween, is that secondary school aged students always find progressively more dangerous ways to celebrate, and on the morning of November 1st, Sirius finds himself waking up on the bathroom floor with an achingly sore neck, a raw throat, this disgusting taste in his mouth, feeling shaky and nauseous and headachey.

Peter is standing over him, peering down. This is not the sight that Sirius wants to wake up to.

“Alright there, Sirius? Do you need a hand?” Sirius considers the multitude of insults worthy of spitting at Peter, but then only realizes that his friend probably needs the loo and Sirius is lying in a pool of dried and crunchy sick that must belong to him. 

“Yes, Peter, thanks very much.” Peter hauls him to his feet, Sirius’s head spins. Peter jerks his head towards the shower, where Sirius sees Remus curled up into a cozy looking little ball on the tiled floor. His feet and lower legs are sticking out the door. Much too tall. 

“Is he okay?”

“Fared better than I did,” Sirius croaks. “Wake him, will you? I want to use the Prefect’s bath.” 

“Er…” Sirius doesn’t wait for Peter’s response as he staggers out of the bathroom and into the dormitory, where James is. 

“Good morning Prongs, how was your party?” James had been standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie, and now turns to regard Sirius with a very unfamiliar expression of pure malice. Sirius is stripping his sick-stained clothes off and tiptoes around the pile of vomit in the middle of the floor while James watches. 

“Fine,” James snaps, “Has last night escaped you?”

“Apparently had a bit too much to drink, so I think I’ll skip all of today just for good measure. Since when has Halloween been on a weeknight?” James doesn’t reply. Sirius, dressed only in his pants, collapses onto his bed and hears the familiar hoarse voice of Remus from the bathroom. 

“Do you want to clean up your sick, or is that my problem, too?”

“My head hurts, do you mind? It’s not like you have to scrub it up or anything.” Sirius hears James cast  _ Scourgify  _ on the floor, say something incomprehensible to Peter, and then shuts the door rather loudly as he leaves for classes. Sirius’s head is thumping prominently around in his skull, and he’s unsurprised to see that he’s broken out into a cold sweat. Peter leaves soon after James, and finally Remus comes to Sirius’s bed, looking sensibly worse for wear.

“Shouldn’t’ve gotten plastered so soon before the moon,” Remus mumbles. “I’ll be feeling like this all week.” His face is dead pale, hair all sweaty and stuck to his neck, and his eyes look a dark brown in the shadowed light of Sirius’s drapes. “Peter said you needed something?”

“Password.” Sirius mumbles. “Prefect’s bathroom password.” 

The two of them make a typical sight on their way down to the Prefect’s bathroom. Sirius wears only his pants and wraps a towel around himself while Remus is still in need of a good ironing from his sleep in the shower. 

There are showers to use in the Prefect’s bathroom and Sirius treats them like those at a swimming pool- rinses his sick-stained body off before joining Remus in the huge bathtub. Remus is surrounded by a floating cloud of colorful bubbles, his hair damp and his face blissed, and he smiles weakly as Sirius slips into the water, relaxing into the warmth. The water smells like lavender and rosemary. 

They sit in a comfortable silence while the taps run. Soft bubbles float up around them, and Sirius more than once catches Remus’s hazel eyes following the path of a shining, soap smeared bubble on its path upwards. When the bath is full, the magnificent, organ-like rows of golden taps turn themselves off, and Sirius swims towards where Remus is sitting with his eyes half closed, inhaling the heady scent permeating the room. 

Remus is very handsome. His shoulders are sharp and angular, cut up with red scars over old scar tissue, pink and white and brown. Sirius thinks there is something quite sexy about his neck: the sharp definition, the bump of his adam’s apple in his throat, then the very fine cut of his jaw and that scar, the legendary scar that bridges cheek to jaw. 

Sirius is still too headachey and tired to try anything sexual right now, so instead he just sits by Remus in the warmth of the bathtub and considers falling asleep again, though Remus looks on the verge of it as well, so perhaps it’d be a better idea for one of them to stay awake so they don’t end up drowning…

“Pads, how much do you remember of last night?” Remus’s voice is quiet and calm, not insinuating anything. Not yet, at least. 

“Not so much…” Sirius responds quietly, “Why? Did I say something stupid?”

“No…” Remus’s eyes are still low lidded and tired, suggesting to Sirius that this may not even be a serious conversation at all, yet his heart rate has still increased and he feels a familiar anxiety, “I just thought you were going to die, for a minute, that’s all.”

“What?”

“You were passed out, Sirius.” The subtle change to first name does not go unnoticed for Sirius. “Your face was all blue, and you weren’t talking, just shaking and sick. I thought you were going to die.” Sirius does not respond. “It was a bit surreal, at the moment, we were all high and it didn’t seem real, but I was so worried.”

It takes a few quiet moments before Sirius realizes that he’s overdue for an apology. He says “I’m sorry” in a mumbled tone. 

“I think we should calm it down,” Remus says, finally opening his eyes and giving Sirius a straight-faced expression of genuine concern, “The constant drinking, smoking, you know. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been sober for twenty four hours straight. I think it’s getting unhealthy.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, “You’re right. I guess we went overboard.” Remus nods. “Sober on my seventeenth, though…” Remus does not smile, here. His hazel eyes remain fixed on Sirius. 

“Another excuse to get drunk.”

“It’s my  _ birthday _ .” Remus shrugs. 

“Make your own choices.”

Sirius considers his choices for the two days that involve getting rid of one hangover and considering the option of having another on the morning after his birthday. Sirius turns seventeen on a Wednesday and receives a package from the Potters at lunch. There is nothing from his immediate family. Andromeda and Ted send him a gift, but Andromeda has shaken her ties to the Black family, just the same as Sirius would love to.

When he opens the present from Euphemia and Fleamont, he can physically hear James inhale. 

“What’s that?” Remus asks curiously, glancing over into the box. Sirius feels a choked up lump in his throat, a hot press of tears that he’s been trying to chase away these past few weeks with alcohol and weed smoke. It’s a watch, in the box. 

Peter says, “Ohh, a watch! Since it’s your seventeenth!” 

“What, is it a tradition?” Mary asks.

“Wizards get watches on their seventeenth birthdays, usually passed down in the family…” Peter trails off as Sirius lifts the watch out of the box. It is gleaming gold, obviously having been polished recently, and little set stars sparkle in place of numbers. The hands are little comet tails. 

“It’s your great granddad’s,” Sirius tells James after reading the note from Fleamont and Euphemia, “So you can have your granddad’s.” James nods, not really saying anything, just keeping this odd unhappy look on his face as Sirius adjusts the watch. The heaviness feels just right on his wrist, and Sirius presses his lips tight together, intensely moved by the gesture. 

They have double Divination at the end of the day, Sirius’s favorite class, and are working on mirror scrying. He is taking N.E.W.T level Divination and they’re having a discussion next week on preferred scrying methods. He doesn’t like the black mirror as much as crystal balls and mirrored pools, since it always makes him feel rather dark and a bit disconsolate, in the way that he gazes into the blackened glass today and sees his mother staring right back at him. 

Sirius and Walburga stare at each other for five minutes straight. Sirius is waiting for her mouth to move, but it doesn’t. She just stares silently at him. When Professor Wakefield walks behind him, asking what he’s seen, Sirius jumps in surprise and his mother disappears. 

“It was my mum,” He says shakily, still surprised from the interaction. “I saw my mum.” Sirius gets drunk that night. Benjy is the one who invites him after dinner, passing by the table and leaning down to slip a note to Sirius.  _ Meet me outside Ravenclaw common room, midnight (ish) if you want something a little crazier :) _

Sirius spends the evening in the Gryffindor common room with friends (with  _ family),  _ although Remus is sickly because of the upcoming full moon, James is still being cold, but the girls are as fun and fair as ever. The night wears, the moon rises, a nearly full projection of something awful and strange, and Sirius sneaks out for a pick-me-up with Benjy. 

They sit in a small secret passage winding behind the Ravenclaw common room. Sirius will have to add it to the map tomorrow. 

“Did you get a watch?” Benjy asks loosely. “Aha,” He says when Sirius pushes his sleeve back, “Nice one. Who’s that, your granddad’s?” 

“James’s great granddad.” Sirius responds. “My family’ve disowned me. Potters took me in.”

“Oh no!” 

“Ah,” Sirius waves his hand, “It’s okay. Never liked mine too much anyways. And besides, I’m seventeen now, so I might as well get my own place.”

“Where’re you thinking? London?”

“Anywhere with Remus,” Sirius tells him with a sappy smile. 

The smile leaves his face when he returns to the dormitories. He’s drunk, yes, but nowhere near as out of control as he’d been on Halloween. He’s still sober enough to get sad when Remus is angry with him. 

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He asks in a harsh whisper when Sirius stumbles into his bed. “After we agreed to stop?”

“It’s my  _ birthday _ ,” Sirius whines, rolling onto his back and sticking his feet in the air to untie his boots. “I can do whatever I want on my birthday. Benjy offered, so I took him up.”

“It’s all about you,  _ always  _ about you, isn’t it, you fucking drama queen?” Remus spits. His temper is full moon-fiery, and Sirius is taken aback by this outburst. “You nearly make me a murderer, and then cry about it so I feel bad for you. Then you get drunk enough to properly be dangerous, agree to lay off, and then do it again in the same bloody  _ week !” _

“Moony-”

“You did something _terrible,_ on the last moon, you know that, right? You did something awful, Sirius, you should be fucking ashamed of yourself, you got off far too easy. I just wanted to move on. All I wanted was to forgive you, because I wanted to pretend it never happened. Because I couldn’t believe what you’d done. I had trusted you with something so close to me and you had given it away to fucking _Snape,_ of all people.”

“You  _ know  _ I’m sorry-”

“But I don’t, I really don’t, I can never tell what’s real with you and what’s not, but I know you’re bad, Sirius, you’re just a bad  _ person _ .” Sirius feels a physical ache of pain in his chest. “You were literally manipulating me, afterwards, crying and telling me how  _ sorry _ you were, like  _ I  _ was the one who had to apologize-”

“I never meant it like that-”

“And now you make this stupid fucking self serving decision to go get wasted because you’ve learned to process your emotions through alcohol and weed!”

“Wow,” Sirius snarls, “Wonder where I got that from.”

“There, you’ve just done it again, turning it back on me, making it about me! You’re manipulating me!”

“ _ You  _ fucking said you weren’t angry about it anymore, about what happened, you said you wanted to move past it, and here you are, bringing it up again! You’ll be holding it over my head until the end of time!” 

“Because you broke my trust again!” Remus shouts. Sirius doesn’t know if there’s the usual silencing charm cast over his bed, and he does, in fact, care. “Get out, Sirius, I don’t want to talk to you tonight.” And then, he says: “I hate you.” 

Sirius chalks it up to full moon nerves. Remus progressively worsens over the next three days: his temper is wilder than Sirius has ever seen it, and it seems as though he’s literally started sleeping in the library to avoid the rest of the Marauders. 

Sirius puts the finishing touches on the Marauder’s Map when James is at practice, Peter as chess club, and Remus studying. He writes their names across the top in his swirly writing:

_ MESSRS. MOONY, WORMTAIL, PADFOOT, AND PRONGS _

_ Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers _

_ Are proud to present: The Marauder’s Map _

Remus’s name first, of course, and Peter second since they’d come up with it. James is last, since the best are saved for last, and Sirius just sticks himself in the middle. 

Mary had drawn up a black ink, thin lined version of the Hogwarts Castle which Sirius had imprinted carefully onto the front of the map. He taps it with his wand, whispers “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” and the map unfolds to reveal movement, life, names, footsteps. It is glorious and grand, and everything they have worked so hard for.

Sirius is heartbroken that they can’t see the finished product together. 

They meet up for the full moon in the Shrieking Shack. Remus is dead eyed and cold, his face fearful and pale, and Sirius knows as soon as they all transform that the night will be bad. 

There is a short version and a long version of the events that take place that night.

In the long version, they spend eight hours chasing each other around the derelict shack, although Moony is doing most of the chasing, and Padfoot feels no peace, is constantly on guard, adrenaline keeping him going, and Moony attacks him, claws him and does it again, tears up his skin, makes him hurt, does it over and over again.

In the short version, Sirius wakes up bloodstained and wondering if he’s reached the end of his tether, James can barely move since his body aches so badly, and it’s Peter who brings them back up to the castle, leaving Remus all alone on the floor, blood of his best friends drying under his ragged fingernails.

Deja vu. The girls’ dormitory, Lily’s green eyes impossibly wide, her mouth very small. Herds them into the bathroom and tears off Sirius’s clothes without much hesitation, heals the wounds magically and bandages them the Muggle way, the best she can do. All three of them are subject to a check up from her, and when she is satisfied, they are released.

Well, Peter and Sirius are. 

Lily calls James back to talk to her.

Peter, the crazy bugger, goes down to breakfast. It is Sunday morning and he wants a strong cup of tea and good conversation. Sirius goes to bed. He sleeps fitfully and wakes up a few hours later with blood leaking through the bandages- most across his ribs and back, a few on his arms, some on his legs.

Sirius checks the map to see that Peter is in the Hufflepuff common room, James is out on the pitch, and Remus is in the dormitory. Remus is in the dormitory?

Sirius draws the curtains back. There is silence in the dormitory. Remus most always puts on a record while he’s in here. The curtains to his bed are half drawn.

“Remus?” Sirius asks. His voice is quiet, shy, even. “Moony, are you here?” The curtains move and Sirius sees Remus, wide eyed and pale faced. He moves across the bedroom, lit up golden by afternoon light, and hesitates at the edge of Sirius’s bed. Remus’s amber eyes flicker over Sirius, who is  _ still  _ just in his pants (they’ve become go-to fashion for him) because wearing clothes would upset the bandages, and he draws his blankets a little tighter around him as Remus takes in all the bloodied bandages.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus breathes, “Sirius. Sirius. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,  _ fuck _ -” His eyes wander worriedly over the wounds, bandaged by Lily, bleeding through the white wrappings, blooming red with the stains of war wounds, cursed wounds, underneath, all over, Remus’s eyes have filled with tears as he covers his white face with both hands. “Fuck, Sirius, I can’t, I didn’t, I never meant-”

“It’s okay, Moony, it’s alright, I deserve it-”

“No!” Remus gasps. “No, you don’t!  _ I’m  _ sorry-”

“You don’t deserve to be, Remus, listen, it’s  _ fine,  _ you were angry, you were  _ rightfully  _ angry-”

“There’s no reason for this to happen!  _ Fuck _ !” Remus is wiping his face as he cries, the tears coming as though a reflex, since he’s making no crying sounds or even showing evidence as to the fact that he  _ is  _ crying at all except for the way he pushes his hands over his cheeks. “What if I’d bitten you?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Sirius tells him quickly, “I was Padfoot, I was a dog, there’s no such thing as werewolf dogs, now, are there?”

“But you’re only an Animagus!”

“I’m a dog when it happens, Moony, trust me. I did my research.” Remus is crying harder, now, choking back the noises as he hurriedly wipes his eyes; this is a reaction borne out of pure panic. “We’re even, now, Remus, okay?”

“Don’t say that,” Remus says wildly, “Don’t you  _ ever  _ say that.”

“We are.” Sirius’s voice is a little stronger, brasher, braver. “So we both have things we can put behind us, now. You’ve settled the score.” Remus does not reply. He’s clearly trying to get a hold on his emotions. 

“I’m so sorry, for what I said, Sirius, I never meant any of it, it-it’s inexcusable, I don’t hate you, I  _ love  _ you, we need to stop-”

“Stop what?” Sirius is very worried.

“Being crazy! We were amazing this summer, we were  _ perfect,  _ and now  _ this! _ This can’t go on!”

“Can’t go on  _ how?  _ We’re not breaking up?!” Remus heaves a deep breath.

“No,” He says, steadier now. “No, not breaking up. We need to try this all over again. Start over, like. I can’t bear fighting with you.”

“Me either.” Remus wipes at his face. “We’ll be okay.” Sirius doesn’t know if this is directed at Sirius or to Remus himself. “We’re going to be okay.” 

  
  


**j**

“Wait,” Lily says after Peter helps Sirius leave, “Stay.” James glances back up at her feeling wary, and tired, and not like he’s in the right mood to be talking to Lily Evans. 

“Stay here?” James asks, glancing around their cramped quarters, although now less cramped since three people have just left but it feels as though the walls are closing in since he is in such close proximity to a beautiful girl wearing just her nightdress. Lily does not go as red as he had suspected, nor does she give any hint that she’s uncomfortable with sitting on the bathroom floor with him.

“Yes, James, I’m worried.” James frowns. “What you all are doing, it’s brave, but it’s stupid, at this point. Remus is hurting you. You can’t even deny that. Sirius was, I mean… he was all torn up. That’s not  _ good. _ You could die!”

“We’re not going to die, Lily,” James tells her and relishes that clean feeling of using her first name. “We have to help Remus, we can’t just  _ leave  _ him. This was a one time thing, anyways. Remus and Sirius have been having some issues as of late.”

“It’s not a one time thing.” Lily says quietly. James lowers his head. He remembers the other morning, the first time, with sharp clarity: the blood smeared all over Sirius’s skin, so dark, almost black, the way his grey eyes widened as he touched the gash along his ribs, or when they weren’t even humans, when the wolf was nothing but angry. Anger and that’s all. 

“Lily, we can’t leave Remus alone on the full moons.” James puts a little more strength into his voice. “You saw how he was before we could help him. Fourth year,  _ third  _ year…” Both of them sit within their own memories. James has too many memories of his friends drenched in blood. Remus sobbing, wrists slit to bone, desperate enough to die. “I can’t leave him.” It is a simple enough thing to say. Things had been bad and then progressively worse, and now they have taken a turn for the better but it seems as though the good never lasts. 

“Just be careful, okay?” Lily asks. “I always worry on the full moons, ever since that time, I always worry in the mornings that you four will be back up here, and it’s not, it’s not  _ funny _ .” James hadn’t been laughing. “It’s not like  _ oh, we’ll just go to Lily to get patched up,  _ it’s like I wake up and the three of you are standing there covered in dirt and blood, looking like walking death. What if I can’t fix you?”

James grins and says, “You’ll always be able to. Don’t worry about that.” 

“But I  _ do _ .” Lily lets out a long breath. “Don’t count on me, James, don’t count on me like that. I’m not the hero here. I’m not perfect.” James would hasten to tell her that it isn’t about being perfect, it’s about knowing how to keep a secret and wave a wand in just the right way. He has nothing more to tell her, anyways, but the look in her eyes is enough for James to understand that maybe Lily is right, and maybe something has to change. 


	87. [YR 6] Sun Drenched Pavement in My Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's election day for us americans and i am so terrified, so here's a chapter to serve as some form of distraction. hope everyone is taking it easy & doing okay
> 
> unrelated but i love regulus's character so i'm gonna work him into this fic more in the future, esp in the later chapters. ALSO! i am stupid and don't know how things work and earlier for some reason said that lily and petunia were twins, but this simply is not the case anymore and we're going to collectively wipe that from our memories. petunia is older than her and it's always been that way :)

_it’s all a lie, what they say about stability_

_it scares me sometimes, the emptiness i see in my eyes_

**reg**

Two in the morning is a rather unhappy hour to spend writing a Charms essay in the Slytherin common room, and Regulus has switched chairs multiple times but cannot seem to get comfortable. In fact, he cannot focus. He attributes this to the fact that he’s taken about three twenty minute unplanned power naps because it’s two in the goddamn _morning,_ and Regulus is not going to finish this blasted essay.

He’s not good, really, at school. To be frank about it, he’s honestly quite terrible. Barty Crouch is probably the main reason why Regulus has made it this far, since his friend doesn’t seem to mind lending essays and assignments that Regulus hasn’t been able to wrap his head around. 

Multiple tutors had been enlisted to teach Regulus and Sirius when they had been younger, and all of them had been frustrated by how quickly Sirius passed through all of their work; he put in minimal effort and was almost suspiciously successful, while Regulus was often reduced to tears of frustration because of his complete inability to _understand._

This essay is due first thing tomorrow morning, Regulus reminds himself. This essay is _due._ There are footsteps wandering through the passageway into the common room, and Regulus quickly gives into the distraction and glances up as none other than Erwin Mulciber strides into the common room. 

The older boy spots Regulus right away. Mulciber is tall, broad, and intimidating, though Regulus is presently too exhausted to feel any fear towards the sixth year, not even when Mulciber walks right towards him. 

“Hello, Regulus.” Regulus had not really considered himself to be on first name basis with Mulciber, but sits up a little straighter in his chair to regard the other boy.

“Erwin.”

“What have you got here? Oh, Charms work? Late night for you?”

“Evidently.” These one word answers are making Regulus feel a bit like Snape. “I should probably go up to bed, anyways, I’ve got Quidditch practice in the morning-”

“Now, now, hold on a tick.” Mulciber draws up a chair and grins toothily at Regulus as he settles himself down. “I’ve just been at a meeting.” His tone is somewhat clandestine. It is clear that he wants Regulus to beg for information about what he’s been doing, but a distinct lack of energy only leads Regulus to raise his eyebrows impassively. “With your cousin,” Mulciber forces himself to continue, “And Jonothan Rosier, the Lestranges.” Regulus still does not reply. 

Erwin wants him to say _Ooh, Erwin, what did you talk about? Any new missions, any new raids? Can I come? Please, can I come?_ Regulus gazes at him coolly. 

“They want to see you,” He says at long last, “You and Crouch. They want information.” Regulus nods, finally giving Mulciber a reaction.

“When?”

“You tell them, mate. Bellatrix said you could write her a letter, tell them when you’ve got time.” Regulus privately thinks that he has no time. He’d been forced to make a _planner,_ for god’s sakes, allocating time for classes, homework, Quidditch, and more homework. He needs more time on work than any of his friends because of his very apparent inability to understand _anything_. Regulus accepts that this essay is not going to be finished tonight. 

“I’ll write her, then.” Regulus’s voice is clipped in a way to demonstrate his lack of time to be talking with Mulciber tonight; he can imagine the frigid morning that he will wake up to tomorrow as he drags himself down to the Quidditch pitch for a sunrise practice… it’s hell just thinking about it. “Thanks, Mulciber. Have a good night.” Regulus gets the last word but feels no triumph in it. 

His feet are unbearably heavy as he drags himself upstairs to the dormitory. He’d been planning on taking a shower tonight, as that’s his usual schedule, but two o’clock has turned into two thirty and he _has_ got to be up at six thirty for Quidditch, which leaves about four hours of sleep if he goes to bed right now. Which doesn’t happen. There is some sort of diligence that Regulus assumes must be attributed with him being a Black and a Slytherin: he changes into his pyjamas and then stays up until three trying to finish the Charms essay.

It’s not _quite_ long enough, but Regulus thinks he can finish it at breakfast, if he asks Barty for help, and maybe Flitwick will let him off easy if he comes up with some sort of excuse about his health, or something. Regulus rolls up the scroll of his essay and drops it on the floor, puts his inkwell and quill down next to it, now too tired to even leave his bed, whispers _nox,_ and then buries his face in his pillow to fall asleep quickly and with little fuss.

Regulus’s watch rings out a loud alarm promptly at six thirty. He can hear his dormmates grumble and shout at him to turn the blasted thing off, and he tries his best, stumbling around the dorm in pre-dawn darkness, running on three and a half hours of sleep. He smacks off his alarm, trips over some assorted objects on the floor, and staggers into his Quidditch robes. Regulus grabs his broomstick and leaves the dormitory, headed for the pitch.

It is freezing fucking cold outside, for lack of a better term. Regulus detaches from the rest of the team and spends an hour and a half releasing the snitch into the frigid, grey morning, and then chasing after it. He’s improved greatly since his third year, when Emma Vanity made the grave mistake of appointing him seeker, and now feels a bit more like he’s earned his place on the team.

Quidditch, however, for Slytherins seems to be a rather lost cause. Benjy Fenwick and James Potter are both sixth years, captains of their teams, and insanely talented at Quidditch, while Matty Boot is now running a tight ship of the Hufflepuff team. Vanity had _tried,_ of course she’d tried, but Regulus feels as though Slytherins lack a distinct sense of teamwork and do what they assume is best for themselves, not the team, so at eight o’clock, little progress has been made and Regulus nearly runs back up to the castle to finish his essay.

Once back in the now-empty dormitory, Regulus bangs about trying to get organized, and gasps incredibly melodramatically when he spots a massive puddle of spilled ink on the floor, right beside his bed.

“ _Fuck!”_ He shouts. “Fuck this! Fuck this stupid, blasted, fucking essay! _Aaargh!”_ The essay is absolutely drenched with ink and Regulus literally tries to wring it out to absolutely no avail. “Fuck, fuck fuck…” Still in his Quidditch robes, now equipped with a rucksack and an ink stained essay, Regulus storms down to breakfast to enlist the help of one Barty Crouch Jr. 

“Good morning, Regulus, you look a bit mad!” Evan says as he approaches.

“Oh, piss off,” Regulus snaps sourly, “Barty, do you know anything to remove ink from parchment? Look what's become of my essay!” Regulus drops the wilting essay onto the table as he himself clears a space in between his friends to sit down. As he reaches down the table for the orange juice, he catches Theodora Rowle, a girl in his year, smiling at him. 

Regulus and Theodora work together in class sometimes, and he’s been left alone with her at intervals like sitting in the library or out on the grounds, and he’s partial to admit that he sort of _likes_ her. Regulus feels his face heat up as he smiles back at her, grabs the orange juice, and then whirls around to see what Barty’s done to his essay.

It’s halfway salvageable, enough for Regulus to beg for forgiveness from an unfairly kind Professor Flitwick who accepts the shortened essay and just tells Regulus to be more careful with it next time. They are learning the Flame-Freezing Charm in class and Regulus spends an hour trying his hardest and achieving nothing.

“There’s a student-led tutoring group that I’m sure could help you.” Professor Flitwick squeaks as he speaks to Regulus after class. “Shall I find out when they meet for you?” Regulus considers telling the little goblin exactly where he could shove that idea, but understands that he’s just in a piss poor mood and needs to get a grip. Plus, Regulus is sure that Remus Lupin is head of the tutoring group, and Regulus is currently being employed to find ‘information’, whatever _that_ means, for the Death Eaters.

“Sure, that would be brilliant. Thank you, professor.” Regulus has to sprint to make it to Arithmancy in time. Theodora sits next to him in class, and looks up at him as he sits down, out of breath and in dire need of a break. 

“Quick jog?” She asks him.

“Yeah,” Regulus pants, dropping his notebook on the desk, “Got to get my exercise in. I prefer running the staircases, but in between classes adds an incentive, you know? Very exciting…” Theodora smiles and starts copying down problems drawn up on the chalkboard. Regulus appreciates Arithmancy because of its distinct lack of magic. Same with Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. Regulus had picked his elective to have the least amount of practical magic as possible. He’s quite good at Arithmancy and Runes, and has considered pursuing a Curse Breaker career.

He’s a Death Eater, first, though. It’s an odd thing to think about. He’s a fifth year, barely sixteen years old, and already has a future laid out in front of him. It gives Regulus a rush to think that he had personally met the Dark Lord and is now going to be completing missions for him. 

This reminds him of the letter he’s due to write to Bellatrix, and he scribbles it out during class so he can run up to the owelry and post it before lunch. Theodora glances over at the letter he writes but does not read it, nor does she ask about it. 

She asks if he’s going to lunch and Regulus says he’s got to send a letter first. Theodora plays with the edge of her long blonde plait and Regulus asks if she’d like to come with him. 

“Who’re you writing?” She asks casually as they walk up to the owelry. 

“Oh, my cousin.” Theodora glances at him slyly. 

“Bellatrix? She’s in the news quite often, isn’t she?” Regulus does not know if she’s speaking in appreciative terms of negative ones. 

“Yeah, she is.” And Regulus tilts his chin up while he says this to let her know that _he’s_ proud of his heritage, at least, and Theodora smiles. 

“Is it true that you’re part of them, too?” Her voice is low, but her eyes sparkle. 

“Yeah,” Regulus repeats, “Yeah, I am.” He’s almost desperate enough to impress her by pulling up the sleeve of his dark green Quidditch robes and showing her the black ink Dark Mark on his pale forearm, but remembers he’s been directed to keep all of this a secret, and so instead he gives her his best impression of a jaunty grin, maybe a ghostly imitation of an older brother, and Theodora’s face turns a bit pink. 

The owelry is cold stone, smells bad, and is full of loud rustling and flapping of wings. Theodora looks up at the small tower as they enter, and Regulus spots his owl, a black and gold Eagle Owl who he’d been given by his parents as a birthday present last year.

“Zenith!” Regulus calls, watching the owl swoop down to land heavily on his arm. 

“Zenith?” Theodora asks, moving closer to him. “He’s gorgeous. What does the name mean?”

“It’s a point in the sky,” Regulus responds, tracing a finger down the bird’s fluffy head. “It’s the opposite of the horizon. Here, want to pet him? He’s very kind.” Theodora passes a gentle hand over Zenith’s head and back, and the bird hoots softly. 

“Nice,” She says. Regulus takes a look at Theodora, standing very close to him, and thinks that she’s quite beautiful. Her plait is already coming undone a bit, and there’s bits of dirty blonde hair falling into her warm brown eyes. There’s a scar on her chin, a few freckles sprayed over her nose, and she is still smiling gently.

“So,” Regulus says, “Erm, do you want to, maybe, come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” Theodora beams.

“Finally, Regulus!” She punches him gently, laughing a bit, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask!”

“Well, why didn’t you ask me?” She blushes.

“I dunno, I was waiting for _you_ to ask! You’re a bit hard to read sometimes, you know.” Regulus scoffs. 

“Hard to read…? Oh well, _whatever_ , this’ll be fun! Let me mail this, and then we can get lunch, okay?” Regulus gives the letter to Zenith who diligently spreads his wings and takes off into the cold day. The pair of them watch the dark owl soar away until he’s too far away to see. 

“So,” Theodora says as they head for the Great Hall, “How long have you fancied me?”

“Erm. How long have _you_ fancied _me_?” She laughs out loud.

“I asked you first!”

“Fine, fine! Erm, I dunno, probably since the end of last year. Remember when we were all hanging out by the lake at the end of last year and everyone else decided they had better things to do, and it was just us?” It had been warm, Theodora had her shoes and socks off, bare legs swishing in the lakewater, Regulus had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, tie loose around his neck, and everything had been sparkling, green, natural, good. 

“Oh, gods.” Theodora’s face is getting red, now. “Yeah, that did it for me, too. That was a good day.”

“It was.” Regulus mumbles softly. “Hogsmeade, though, that’ll be fun.” 

“For sure!” They grab food from the Great Hall and go eat it at a bench in the hallway, earning themselves more privacy. “You look stupid walking around the school in your Quidditch robes,” Thoedora tells him, and then claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” Regulus just laughs.

“I know, I must look like a total prat. I just didn’t have time to change this morning. Lots of chaos.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Defo didn’t want to walk around the school having _everyone_ know you’re the big bad Slytherin seeker.”

“Me? Big and bad?”

“Sounds more like your brother.” Regulus laughs in surprise, impressed at Theodora’s sharp humor, and more so at the joke at hand. Sirius had returned to school this year with silver earrings right back in his ears, very loud black boots, a worn looking leather jacket, and about twenty extra pounds around his middle. 

Evan and Anthony had jeered at him in the Great Hall their first night back, making fun of his weight and sniping comments about how he’d really let himself go over that disownment, but when Regulus had chanced a glance at the Gryffindor table, Sirius had only looked happier than ever and Regulus had not responded to his friends. 

Regulus and Theodora separate for their afternoon classes, and Regulus only manages to change out of his Quidditch robes when the day of class is finally over. He does the things he was supposed to do in the morning at three thirty in the afternoon: brushes his hair, puts on deodorant, washes his face. His curly dark brown hair has gotten longer, but it’s sort of in style, and Regulus smiles at himself as he looks in the mirror.

People always used to compare his appearance to Sirius. Regulus had first thought it cool, being compared to his sharp tongued older brother, but as time has worn on, Regulus is glad they’re not compared anymore. Sirius’s hair is jet black, wavy but not curly, much longer than Regulus’s, and his eyes are more blue than grey, his cheekbones are more defined, he’s shorter, and heavier, now. Regulus misses Sirius, but he does not miss the constant comparisons, the fighting, the frustration Regulus felt of Sirius’s distinct need to rebel. 

Sirius could have given in, and he would still have a family. He could have just pretended. But he hadn’t. 

It is not long before Zenith is tapping at the window with a prompt response from Bellatrix. Not long, since she’s unlike her sister in length of letter writing:

_Meet me at the Three Broomsticks on Thursday at 7pm with Barty. Don’t tell anyone who you’re meeting. I’ll Apparate with you to the Lestranges._

Of course, it’s mysterious and short. Regulus sighs and checks his planner for Thursday. Quidditch practice is Monday and Wednesday afternoons, and Friday mornings, so Regulus should have the time on Thursday night. He’ll make the time, anyways. There’s no other choice.

**l**

Lily is sitting in the common room and drawing a garden around the margins of her Herbology textbook when a second year girl with an obscenely freckled face and blonde hair tied in a ponytail approaches her and says, “Hi, er, can I talk to you?”

Lily looks up in surprise but smiles warmly. She gestures at the seat next to her and the girl sits down. Lily recognizes her vaguely, as she recognizes most Gryffindors, but there is no name to attribute with the face. 

“I’m Scarlett,” She provides. “You’re Lily Evans, yeah?” Lily nods and the girl fidgets, biting at her scabbed lips and looking uncertain. “I need your help.”

“Sure, what’s going on?”

“Erm…. It’s a bit private, like.” Scarlett glances around the common room as if somehow begging Lily to take a hint. So Lily packs up all her books and relocates to a quiet corner of the common room. It’s Monday night, so no one is being too rowdy (yet, at least) and the first years are busy with Astronomy so there’s none of the present population that usually comes to Lily for help. 

“Alright, Scarlett, what’s up?” 

“So… hypothetically, let’s say I had a friend, yeah? And hypothetically, let’s say that she’s… like, not eating, like. And she’s all weird about food, keeping track of calories and stuff, and it’s not healthy at all, and let’s say she’s also on the Quidditch team, so she doesn’t want to get help, for she’s afraid they’ll kick her off the team.” 

Lily immediately knows who this hypothetical situation is about because one of her best friends plays beater on the team with her. Lily had not expected strong willed Juliana Dunbar to develop an eating disorder this soon into her second year. 

“This is all hypothetical.” Scarlett tells her again, completely unnecessarily.

“Okay, Scarlett, well, this doesn’t sound good.” Lily pushes a hand back through her hair. “Is she not eating _because_ of Quidditch? Like, she wants to lose weight to play better?” Scarlett shrugs, apparently forgetting about the hypothetical nature of their conversation. Lily debates having a word with James Potter. 

“I dunno _why,_ it doesn’t make much sense, but I’m worried about her.”

“Of course…” Lily doesn’t know how to deal with this, but doesn’t blame Scarlett for coming to her. She’s more approachable than certain other Prefects. “Have you talked to her about it? Told her you’re concerned, that you’re there?” Scarlett shrugs.

“It’s a bit awkward.”

“Of course. You’ve got to be open, though, let her know you can talk to her. My roommate had a problem like this in our second year, actually, and… well, I just went to McGonagall about it. You’re a bit more tactful than that, so good on you, but I can’t directly get involved, you know?” Scarlett nods. “If it gets worse, you should go to McGonagall. It’ll probably be sort of awful for your friend, but she’ll get more help that way.” 

“Right, I was thinking about McGonagall, but I thought I’d ask you first.”

“And that’s totally fine. But you should talk to your friend, yeah? And about the Quidditch stuff,” Lily shudders inwardly, hating the sport with something like a passion, “She’s going to get kicked off the team if she’s too weak and ill to play. Make sure she knows that.”

“Okay.” Scarlett’s lips are bleeding, glossed red, but she keeps biting at them. 

“And Scarlett, argh, eating disorders are very serious. They’ll get worse and worse if she doesn’t get help. She could die.” Scarlett looks very pale. “So talk to her, alright, make sure she’s doing okay? Show her support, try to encourage her to eat but don’t push it. And definitely encourage her to go _herself_ to McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey. Offer to go with her, or write up what she could say, show her she needs help, yeah?”

“Yes.” Scarlett says. “Thank you.” The rest of their conversation is Lily giving advice and Scarlett nodding seriously while wearing an expression that says she regrets not having brought a notepad to take down Lily’s words. Lily walks her back up to the second year dormitory when they’re done, tells Scarlett to come find her if she needs anything else, and thanks her for going to get help, then leaves the dormitory feeling exhausted. 

Lily has been spent all summer long. The summer of 1976 had been hot and tiresome, draining the life from her. Her mum had lost her job, and her dad had been sickly, finding it hard to make ends meet. Petunia had found herself a serious boyfriend and spent so many days away from home. Lily had taken up a job working the till at a petrol station just for some extra money. The job had not been enjoyable nor rewarding.

Lily doesn’t have many friends in Cokeworth save for her shady coworkers at the petrol station, and she had been rather melancholy about spending an entire summer in this strange sort of hard working isolation. 

Still, coming back to Hogwarts had not been as exciting as Lily had hoped, for life to her these days feels more tedious than she’d like to admit. There are days like these when young girls come to her with their worries as though she’s almost forgotten she’s a Prefect, despite the patrols, meetings, and all the hard work. Lily is not just tired of school, of being muggleborn in the wizarding world and normal life in her own world, she’s tired of things that she has a right to be tired of: being single (and having been single for over a _year_ ), being uglier than all her pretty friends with their boy and girlfriends, and having the one highlight of her summer being taking psychedelic drugs at a music festival.

Past curfew, now, and Lily’s feet drag as she diligently walks herself down to the common room to tell anyone down there to go to bed, and feels a distinct relief when she sees only two familiar figures sitting on the sofa: Sirius and Remus, except they are far too close together and then they are _kissing._

Lily freezes. 

Sirius has situated himself halfway into Remus’s lap, alright, _fully_ into Remus’s lap, and looks up at him while the other boy tilts his head down to meet his lips, and it is a fully obscene thing to be taking place in the common room but maybe Lily is just predisposed to think this because it’s two of her best mates, and they’re _blokes._

Lily thinks that she should have been expecting this and maybe she _has_ been, she sort of has seen it coming in the way that Sirius and Remus always seemed suspiciously _too_ close to each other, but she’s honestly got no right to stand on the stairs and watch them snog each other in a way that is becoming progressively more and more graphic.

Lily turns on her heel and walks right back up the stairs, trusting that Remus will be the Prefect to clear up the common room tonight.


	88. [YR 6] Anklebiters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all. it has most definitely been one of those days. hopefully things will feel better by next week but living in the U.S. for an extended period of time has lead me to finally begin to crack & if biden doesn't win then..... poor lily will shatter into pieces. rip. 
> 
> anyways ahah it's ironic that this is a happy-ish period in this fic while my life is going downhill. OK sorry for the pessimism here is your cw for sexy situations and please enjoy smth short and sweet

_ fall in love with yourself, ‘cause someday you’re gonna be the only one you’ve got _

**j**

Lily Evans approaches James after class and before lunch, and so he is immediately wary due to that tired, worn out look on her face that she almost always adopts when in close contact with him. She says, “I need to talk to you,” and “It’s serious,” and so James jams his mouth shut for the duration of her speech. 

At some point, he does stop focusing on the nuances of her dark red hair and the way her nose curves up at the tip, because she  _ is  _ talking about serious things. By the time she’s finished, James is left at somewhat of a loss for words.

“Damn.” He says. “That’s not good at all. This is Juliana, is it?” Lily hadn’t mentioned the name of this mystery Quidditch player, but the team is rather heavy on the side of male representation this year (James had heard  _ quite  _ a spiel from Marlene on that), and so the only options are Marlene and Juliana, the former of whom does not really fit the ticket. 

Lily just shrugs.

“She’s been looking rather peaky,” James continues, “But…  _ damn _ .” There are many questions on his mind, mostly about how to deal with something as sensitive as an  _ eating disorder,  _ especially with a girl he barely knows, but Lily looks incredibly fed up and so James does not ask the multitude of questions. “Thanks for telling me,” He says instead. “I appreciate it.” 

“Sure.” Lily has her arms crossed and even while angry, while clearly _not_ wanting to talk to him, her eyes are so _pretty._ She is not wearing her heavy black robes today, just her shirt and skirt, and James thinks that Lily has a very nice body. The only girl James has seen with less than a top on is Marlene, dancing around the Quidditch changing room in just her bra, but she is very tall and thin and besides, James isn’t at all interested in her.

Lily is neither tall nor thin, but James likes her better that way, and anyways, she looks a lot more gorgeous than anyone in the entire world, she’s got curves and is endearingly full figured and staring daggers and James is most definitely staring at her chest; his face heats up and he lifts a hand up to scratch at his hair, looking in Lily’s furious eyes, and he thinks of something to say.

“You know, I dunno, I’m really trying to be a good captain. I’m not putting too much pressure, or anything, I’m trying to keep it  _ cool,  _ well, as cool as Quidditch can be, but I’m not mental or anything-”

“James.” Lily says. “ _ Potter _ . I know. Marlene’s told me. She says you’re brilliant.” James’s face is unbearably hot. He wonders if, perhaps, she can see him blushing through the shield of his brown skin. 

“Cool,” He says and thinks he’s completely inept. “ _ Thanks,  _ I mean, thanks, Evans, I mean, Marlene, tell her thanks?” Lily has raised one eyebrow. “You know what? I’m going to go figure out what to do. Bye!” James nearly runs away from her, because he finds it very hard to keep it together when Lily is making eye contact with him as there is something distinctly powerful about her, and yet sometimes she looks slyly at him and James is confused, it never makes any  _ sense,  _ and so he rushes off to find Remus. 

Remus is the man to go to for advice. James makes the assumption that he will be in the library, since Remus is a well known library dweller and is partial to skipping lunch, as he skips many meals, and now James wonders if  _ he  _ has an eating disorder. Remus has been on and off in terms of personal health for his entire Hogwarts career, and recently seems to have been doing alright, but James cannot say this for sure, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s found Remus sitting by himself in the library, bent over a huge textbook and scribbling down notes. 

“Hey, Moony.” Remus glances up with one of his half smiles that also serve as greetings. “Are you free? I need advice.”

“Oh,  _ excellent _ !” Remus lights up and grins widely, immediately straightening up in a more open position, gesturing for James to come sit with him. “Wonderful. I love giving advice.”

“I know.” James sits down at his table. “It’s a bit serious, though.”

“Even better.” James then explains the situation to Remus, who listens very attentively to the tale of poor Juliana Dunbar with those studious hazel eyes of his. This seriousness has been rather characteristic of Remus ever since the late October/early November breakdown that Remus and Sirius had: always high, always drunk, tearing each other apart on the full moon. Things have calmed down consistently as November has worn on.

“Hm.” Remus says when James finishes. “That’s too bad. Well… you’ve got to talk to her, no question about that. You’ve got to have some tact.” James is perhaps one of the most tactless people alive, but tries not to think about that. “You’ve just got to… ach, well, just say she’s been looking a bit… sickly?”

“Poorly?” James offers.

“Poorly, yeah,  _ peaky _ , something like that. Say she’s been looking poorly, ask if she’s doing alright, you want everyone in their best form, tell her to see Madam Pomfrey if anything’s wrong, you know, be very nice to her.” Remus speaks like he has experience in being cornered by concerned friends about his health and wellbeing- James Potter being the majority of those friends. 

“That’s too bad, though” Remus continues empathetically. “I hope she gets help.” 

“Yeah, me too.” James pauses, glancing across the table at Remus’s essay, upside down. “What’s that you’re writing?”

“‘S not for class,” Remus replies, “Just for me.” He does not elaborate, and in fact pushes the textbook on top of the essay so James can’t read it. 

“For next year?” Remus looks rather surprised as though he hadn’t expected James to even consider their seventh year essay when they’re only months into sixth. Seventh year is not the same as sixth; there’s higher focus on N.E.W.T level classes and very much less attention paid to topics that students aren’t taking to a higher level or haven’t passed on their O.W.Ls.

“Yeah, it’s just ideas right now.” The sheets of parchment in front of him do not look like ideas, but leave it to Remus to write an entire rough draft of a paper without even getting his topic approved by a faculty advisor. “Skeleton draft, you know.”

“What’s it on?”

From behind a cagey expression, Remus says “Werewolves.” James raises his eyebrows. “It’s complicated.”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s… personal. I dunno. You can read it when I’ve finished. I’ll have to edit it a million times over and polish it, and everything. Next year.” 

“Okay.” Remus picks up his quill to signify the end of the conversation but James doesn’t want to leave, instead pulls out his own work to do, and Remus’s eyes flicker up across the table to watch him set to work on Herbology diagrams in a silence that Remus is always appreciative of. His amber eyes return to his own work. 

**r**

Caradoc excitedly informs Remus on the first of December that it’s harvest season, and Remus stares at him wide eyed wondering what the  _ hell  _ he’s supposed to be harvesting.

“The mushrooms!” Caradoc exclaims. “The mushrooms, Remus, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the mushrooms!” 

“Oh, no! No, I remember, don’t worry, I’ve just been thinking of it as oregano, not mushrooms, because Sirius put up a glamour so they  _ look  _ like oregano, and to the rest of the world, I’ve just been cultivating oregano, which is even better for keeping this on the down-low, because literally no one even knows they exist. How’s that?” Caradoc is just staring at him. 

“You’re mad, Remus.”

“A madman who’s taken  _ excellent  _ care of your mushrooms. Don’t fret, Caradoc, I’ll harvest them tonight.” And, when the sun sets and dinner is eaten and everyone is hanging about in the common room, Remus takes the first steps to mushroom harvesting.

He’d been lying on the sofa in the common room with his head in Sirius’s lap, reading a book while Sirius and Mary talk over his head. Sirius’s lap makes a very nice pillow, his thighs 

are appealingly soft, and Remus sort of hates himself for asking if they should harvest their oregano tonight.

“It’s ready tonight?” Sirius asks. 

“Yeah, we should get it before too long.”

“I’m free tonight.”

“Oregano is codeword for sex, then?” Mary asks. Remus sits up so fast that he bangs his head on Sirius’s chin, and it takes the two of them a few moments to recover, snapping at each other and then rubbing their faces in pain. “Sorry,” She says, grinning and looking the opposite of sorry, “Didn’t realize you  _ weren’t _ together.”

“Christ.” Remus grumbles.

“It’s not sex,” Sirius tells her earnestly, “We do need to harvest some plants.”

“Weed?” Mary quirks an eyebrow. Remus shrugs. “Well, have fun either way!”

They try. It’s freezing outside, already snowing, and Remus hasn’t brought a jacket because he always runs hot, and because his jacket is less of an extra layer since it’s so patched up and serves the same function that taping a piece of thin cardboard to himself would. 

“Take my jacket,” Sirius says upon seeing him shiver as they leave the ground, and holds out his leather jacket all casual, and Remus does not protest before taking it because he  _ loves  _ wearing Sirius’s leather jacket, thinks he could rank it number one on his list of favorite things about dating Sirius if not for the fact that there are far too many competing things to love. Remus shrugs on the jacket the way he’s done before, in secret, when Sirius had been at detention and Remus had been missing him.

He’s done it many times, by now. The jacket has a heavy weight of comfort, and Remus will pull it on and feel the gravity of it on his shoulders. The jacket is black but used, with worn brown and grey bits, and the many pockets have rusted zippers and fading silver buttons. The jacket has an angular cut, especially around the collar, it’s very  _ punk,  _ and Sirius has expressed his desire to line the wide collar and back with studs.

It’s too big for Sirius which means it fits Remus just right, and he’ll slide his hands very gently down the sides of it, staring at himself, and the first time, he had felt this small feeling in his stomach. Something like pride, he’d thought, something bright and exciting. It had taken him a few days to give the feeling a name: confidence. Wearing Sirius’s heavy leather jacket had made Remus, for perhaps the first time in all sixteen years of life, briefly sure of himself. 

Maybe it had been dripping with the magic that makes Sirius who he is. He’d always been confident, mostly bridging on arrogance, and wears the jacket like a birthright, and grows his hair long, pierces his ears, does whatever he wants and looks good doing it.

Sirius does not appear to give a single fuck of what anyone else thinks and Remus then thinks of himself: thin, spare, dull, colorless. Maybe a leather jacket will make his world more exciting.

“Thanks,” He murmurs to Sirius as he slips on the jacket. The grounds are dark and snowy, and it is so eerily silent that Remus could imagine them stepping through the snow without leaving so much as footprints. Sirius smacks his arse from behind and Remus laughs out loud, breath echoing out into the frozen cold night, batting Sirius’s hand away and giggling wildly. 

“You’re insane!” Remus whisper shouts. “Keep it in your pants!”

“Impossible,” Sirius says, steals a kiss, and then opens the greenhouse door for Remus like a gentleman.

The “oregano” has fully grown.

Fat brown caps, white bases, Remus could imagine chewing them up and the bitter taste of their juices on his tongue, then colors in his ears and sounds in his eyes. 

You have to be tender, Remus knows, to harvest the mushrooms, and his hands are very gentle as he pulls at the soft dirt where they grow. Grew. It is short work of harvesting them, depositing them into small plastic bags, labeling them, watching his breath puff out white like a dragon under the light of Sirius's wand. 

“All done?” Sirius asks. Remus nods, stuffing the baggies into his rucksack. “Good, I’m frozen, and I want you to warm my bed tonight…” He wraps Remus in a hug from behind, kissing at his neck, and Remus giggles while moving into the embrace; the greenhouses are frozen paned and dark, but Remus feels like a burning fire of warmth with Sirius’s jacket on his shoulders, his lips on his neck, arms around his chest. 

Since they’ve made up, the two of them have been nearly inseparable. They tangle together in Remus’s bed that night, kissing and touching, sucking and rubbing, coming and falling asleep with their limbs twined together, in love, in love, in love. 

They find different spots around the school to fool around: the Room of Requirement, empty classrooms, closets, Filch’s office while he’s out on patrol, the Prefect’s bathroom. 

On a blustery frigid Saturday afternoon, Remus leads Sirius into the Prefect’s bathroom and they set straight to work with making out once the door is shut behind them.

“Ohh.” Sirius says, as Remus palms his crotch, finds him hard, palms him harder, smiles, kisses him on the lips and then on the neck. “Fuck.” 

“Mmph,” Remus moans softly. He skims his teeth over Sirius’s neck, tempting him, biting a tiny bit harder. He slides his hand under Sirius's shirt, and his stomach is warm, soft, trembling, and Remus slips his hand up his chest, pulls off his shirt, and Sirius shakes his hair out as they pause for a moment. 

Sirius’s belly hangs over his waistband, just a little bit, and there are red stretch marks on his stomach, and he does not squirm around in insecurity but gets to work unbuttoning his trousers while Remus takes off his own shirt, his own trousers, shivers in the cool air and looks at Sirius. 

Sirius looks back at him. His lips are already swollen, his eyes are blue and serious, dark, sharp. His chest moves up and down as he breathes heavily, his cock is hard in his pants, his black hair so long and thick and dark down his shoulders; he says “Can we? Yeah? Let’s get started?” 

The water moves around them, maybe passes straight through them, all warm and foamy with bubbles, smells like something you’d spray in the dorms to cover up the smell of those spliffs you smoked earlier. Remus's hands shake as Sirius slides his hand under the warm, colorful water and wraps it around his cock.

“Uh,” Remus says, weakly, feels his heart beat get faster and faster as Sirius’s hand speeds up, Remus dissolves into more bubbles and foam as he builds up and climaxes and groans, louder, bites gently on Sirius’s shoulder as the climax fades out, he sucks harder and leaves a hickey bruising like a plum.

He brings his lips up to Sirius’s face, spins him against the wall, finds something to do with his hands that involve tracing down Sirius's chest, soaked, and then his stomach, soft and wide. Remus runs both hands around the sides of Sirius’s belly, holds him by the waist, and Sirius gently pulls his hands away. 

“Don’t,” He mumbles, ever so softly, eyes flickering down, and then he looks back up with a distraction on his mind, asking “Can we?” for the second time, and now his eyes are glowing.

“Yeah,” Remus breathes, and so they do, Sirius closes his eyes as Remus stretches him with fingers first, gentle in the sweaty mixture of chaos and peace in that warm water, and then he pushes in and Sirius is impossibly tight, panting for breath as Remus pushes further in, past the ring of muscle. 

“Ah!” Sirius says, voice wavering.

“Alright?”

“Yes, yes, ahhhh…” Remus doesn’t move, letting Sirius adjust. They don’t have sex much, because Sirius doesn’t like to top but still wants to maintain control, which is hard to do on the bottom. Remus presently doesn’t know Sirius’s personal reasons for the control issues, but is left to pick up on all his wordless cues that say  _ stop, it hurts  _ without speaking any of it out loud.

“We can stop, if you like,” Remus murmurs gently.

Sirius breathes heavily with eyes closed, then says “You’re alright,” and Remus starts moving, gently at first to gauge Sirius's reaction.

Sirius’s breaths pick up, he makes noises of pleasure, and so Remus fits into a rhythm and he is sparking with heat and pleasure, attraction, Sirius’s heavy body is very solid and warm against his, a presence that Remus could never be without, and they move together, so close, in that huge bathtub in the sparkling, grand, Prefect’s bathroom, another place they have made their own just by sheer presence and force of love.

“Fuck, Moony,  _ fuck _ ,” Sirius moans as he comes, stuttered breaths, hands in Remus’s hair, “Fuck, fuck…” Remus climaxes for the second time that afternoon and feels his breaths choke wordlessly in his throat as those molten waves of good feeling crash down around him in a tidal wave of  _ good.  _

Sirius looks insanely attractive as he towels off his hair and puts on Remus’s jumper instead of his own black t-shirt. “We’re switching,” He says, tugging on Remus’s trousers. “I want to wear your comfy stuff.”

“You’re a tosser,” Remus informs him. “It’s not my fault that everything you wear has to be black and spiky and tight. Jesus.” Sirius’s trousers are a few inches too short and then too big around the waist, for Remus knows that his boyfriend has been stretching them with spells, but his shirt fits alright, and Remus loves wearing his jacket. He laces up his own worn brown boots that are held apart by a mix of magic and duct tape. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, Moony, you know that, don’t you?” Remus glances up at Sirius, who looks absolutely  _ ridiculous  _ in Remus’s jumper and corduroys. 

“I know, don’t boost my ego,  _ you _ look like a  _ swot,  _ you know.”

“I look like you!” Sirius's grin is so endearing. Remus kisses him hard before they go, knowing that they look full well like the queerest couple Hogwarts has ever seen. Remus walks through the halls with an excuse blooming on his tongue like flowers, like vomit: it’s a prank, wearing each other’s clothes for a week, haha, quite funny, isn’t it? 

Remus is too paranoid to be seen in Sirius's clothes in the Great Hall, especially since both of them smell like perfume and have damp hair, so they go get food from the kitchens and feed it to each other in the dorms like the insane romantics they are. It is a good thing that James and Peter have found themselves elsewhere. Their map has made sneaking about the school to fool around about a million times easier. 

It’s there, after they’ve eaten and they are warm and full, and the outside world is cold, snow drifting down outside the window sill, when Sirius and Remus curl up in bed together while listening to Aladdin Sane, that Remus realizes he could do this for the rest of his life, easy.

Sirius has his head resting on Remus’s chest, and Remus is absentmindedly pulling his fingers through his hair. Remus is currently worried about whether or not he and Sirius will last a year together, or if they will even have futures with each other. Remus thinks that Sirius is not an easy person to lose track of and still thinks that it  _ could  _ be possible.

It could have been possible a month and a half ago, when Sirius seemed in a state self destructive enough to rig an entire fucking explosion with Remus at the epicenter. Which was really kind of him of course. After dragging their relationship through the mud of Sirius’s little prank, poor Remus has decided that dating Sirius is either all or nothing, and them being together is Remus giving it his all.

Quietly, he says, “Pads.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m stupid and paranoid.”

“Untrue.”

“Will you always be in my life?” Sirius is lying so Remus can’t see his full facial expression, but he frowns briefly.

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know if I could ever stand to lose you.”

“Easy, then. I’ll make it so you don’t have to.” Sirius cuddles up closer to Remus and it seems like that’s that. 


	89. [YR 6] Take Me Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! things are better today. thank you joe biden for somehow pulling a win!  
> this chapter also made me cry because i'm stupid and cry over my own writing. cw for grief i guess? it's sad for a min but nothing awful happens

_you are not alone, you still have a home_

_no matter what you do, my son, i’m still proud of you_

**reg**

“This is wrong,” Barty says, and he is right. Regulus scowls at him, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his winter cloak, and ducks his head against the onslaught of snow beating down. It’s getting in his hair, crunchy and cold, and when Regulus glances over at Barty, he sees flakes on his friend’s eyelashes.

“It’s fine. People have done worse. It’s just Hogsmeade.” Just going to Hogsmeade on a Thursday night, in the middle of a snowstorm, just casual things, of course. 

“It’s not just Hogsmeade.” Barty’s voice is tense. He’s perpetually nervous, probably an inherited trait from his father, and while Regulus doesn’t blame him, he also doesn’t harbor intense amounts of sympathy. Barty always seems to get cold feet in moments like these, and Regulus knows it’s because of his father, those family ties that always feel so much sharper when you’re doing something they disapprove of. 

Regulus doesn’t comfort him, in fact, he doesn’t reply at all. He trudges through the whirlwind of white snow against the cold dark backdrop of a frozen December night. Bright lights of Hogsmeade glow in the near distance, and Regulus feels a mixture of relief and apprehension in his chest. They whirl into the Three Broomsticks’ and out of the cold, stomping their boots, brushing snow from their scarves. 

Regulus shakes the snow out of his hair while Barty looks nervously around the pub. It takes a while for Regulus to spot his cousin- she’s hidden away in an emptier, darker corner of the bar with her hood up, and she drops it quick enough for Regulus to see a flash of her pale face and dark eyes.

“Come on,” He tells Barty, moving through the crowd to the table where Bellatrix is.

“Regulus.” She smiles when she sees him, standing up and pressing air kisses to both cheeks. “Barty.” He nods respectfully at her. “Come on, we’re due to meet Rodolphus and Lucius.” Bellatrix reaches out to take both of their arms, and the last thing Regulus remembers is the feeling of her sharp nails digging into his arm. Then the always awful feeling of Apparition- to Regulus, it feels like he’s being sucked down a straw, and with a popping crack, they reappear. 

Regulus takes a few steps away from Bellatrix and Barty and takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves from the Apparition, and what is further to come. However, the meeting does not take long. Lucius, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix all take their turns informing Barty and Regulus as to what they’ve been doing, and Regulus listens with his serious face on, one that makes him feel much older than he is, not letting the excitement get to him. 

Rodolphus looks back and forth between him and Barty. He first talks to Barty, telling him that his connections with the Ministry are incredibly useful, and Regulus sees this prideful look on Barty’s face. 

“Your father’s the Head of DMLE, Barty, that’s _invaluable_ . Do you talk to him often? Good relationship with him?” Regulus glances at his friend, who looks a bit white in the face at mention of his father, who he distinctly has anything _but_ a good relationship with.

“He’s… er, he’s quite busy with work, a lot.” Barty says, still looking nervous. “But I can write to him more.”

“Lie to him,” Lucius says very quickly. “Tell him you’ve made new friends, friends with mudbloods, friends with whoever he’d like to hear. Tell him exactly what he’d want to hear. Tell him you want to be an Auror, even.”

“But don’t overdo it.” Rodolphus looks back at Barty. “That’s your job. Play back into your dad’s good graces, mend your relationship, whatever. Talk to him, make him trust you.” Barty nods. “Now, Regulus, I understand that your older brother has been disowned?” Regulus doesn’t know what this has to do with anything, but nods weakly. “Do you know what his plans are for after he graduates?”

“No, we don’t talk.” Bellatrix is watching him carefully and Regulus feels oddly put on the spot. 

“No careers he’s ever considered, nothing he’s ever spoken to you about?” Regulus just shakes his head. Rodolphus rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “We think that Dumbledore is putting together some sort of resistance effort. And we think that he’ll be employing students.” This worries Regulus. Why would Dumbledore be asking students to help him? Aren’t there enough graduates of Hogwarts and adults to fight for him?

“Would your brother join a resistance effort, Regulus?” Rodolphus asks. Regulus cannot lie, does not look at his cousin, and says yes. 

The two of them walk back up from Hogsmeade in bitter, frigid silence. It’s only once they’ve successfully snuck back into the Slytherin common room that Barty speaks again. 

“I don’t like what they’re doing,” He says, “Making us turn on our families like this.” Regulus shrugs. “And, like, I know you don’t like your brother, the same way I don’t really like my dad, but that doesn’t mean we have to lie to them, and manipulate them, and-”

“It’s what we signed up for, Barty, isn’t it?” Regulus’s voice is tired and hostile. He feels the same way as Barty, just doesn’t want to admit it out loud. “This is exactly what I was expecting. You have an easier job of it, anyhow. I’m going to bed.” Barty leaves him alone for the rest of the night. 

It _is_ a cowardly thing, Regulus thinks, to do what he’s been told to do. Work his way back into Sirius’s life only to steal information from him, to spy, and then report back to the Dark Lord with it. Regulus is not a coward and they say he is cunning, they call him ambitious, tell him he’s the perfect Slytherin, but Regulus observes Sirius during dinner the next day, after watching him say something to Lupin and MacDonald that gets them all laughing out loud, and Regulus thinks that he’s not strong enough to do this to his own brother.

Maybe he can settle for less. Maybe he can settle for Lupin.

Regulus puts the first part of his plan into action by attending Lupin’s tutoring session the next Monday. His weekend had been remarkably unproductive, as he’d gone into Hogsmeade with Theodora on Saturday and had a wonderful time, in fact, he had kissed her in a swirl of snowflakes outside Honeydukes and she’d looked so gorgeous: her hair like honey, cheeks red and the tip of her nose, too, and she’d smiled all big and he had the nerve to kiss her again.

They’d flown around in the snow on Sunday, because Theodora doesn’t play house Quidditch but is rather good on a broom, and then they’d drunk hot cocoa to warm their frozen bodies, done a very minimal amount of studying, and altogether enjoyed each others’ company all weekend long.

Regulus does not consider it a waste of time because he’d enjoyed it greatly. 

He does not enjoy his own anxious attendance of Lupin’s Charms tutoring class. Regulus feels like a dog that’s done wrong as he creeps into the classroom, glancing warily about, and spotting Lupin sitting on top of a desk in the front, talking to a fifth year Hufflepuff with bright ginger hair. He laughs at something she says, glances briefly up at the clock, around the assorted students in the classroom, and does a double take at Regulus trying to hide in the back corner. 

Regulus meets his eyes for perhaps a split second and then looks away fast. Lupin’s conversation does not cease, but Regulus is sure his quick mind is trying to think up all the reasons that he’s infiltrated the meeting. The Hufflepuff girl, Julie, starts demonstrating some charms for a group of third years, while a nervous looking Ravenclaw turns around and asks Regulus what he needs help with.

“Flame freezing,” He tells her, vaguely recognizing her from class, “I just can’t get it right.” 

“Me too!” She turns around in her chair to further talk to him. “I’m _sure_ it’ll be on our exam, I just need to perfect it so I don’t catch on _fire_.” Regulus nods empathically. He glances up and feels a jolt of fear to see Lupin standing there. His scars look even worse up close; all shiny and jagged across his face.

“Hey, Regulus.” He says. Regulus nods at him. He isn’t sure they’ve ever spoken before. “What’s your name?” Lupin asks the girl, and she tells him Eliza. “Nice to meet you, I’m Remus.” He looks back at Regulus, who feels rather small, rather like he’s been found out about. “So, what do you need help with?”

By the end of the session, Regulus has lit his arm on fire and watched the impervious flames dance across his sleeve and skin while Lupin looked on in approval and Eliza tried to figure it out from watching him. Regulus doesn’t learn anything about a resistance effort. All he learns is that Lupin is a good teacher and Regulus isn’t as bad at Charms work as he’d previously believed. 

He does not remain ignorant for the rest of the night. In fact, he is partial to receiving a helpful tip from one Severus Snape, who finds Regulus in the common room that evening and seems to automatically know what he’s doing with the air of someone much older and wiser than a greasy sixth year.

“They’ve got you doing _reconnaissance,_ haven’t they?” Snape sits on a chair sort of by Regulus, finds it a bit too far, and drags it closer. “That won’t work. I can tell you something. I know something about Lupin.”

“Do you?” Regulus asks, now finding that he shouldn’t be after Lupin _either,_ since the older boy helped him quite competently manage a charm, and Regulus is rather embarrassed to consider that he might owe Lupin, now. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you explicitly.” Snape pulls his chair even closer.

“Is this about what happened with the Whomping Willow?” Regulus asks. He, like the rest of the school, is not immune to gossip. 

“Yes,” Snape says, “And no. Think about Lupin. Think about his _name._ ” 

“Remus?” 

“Think about his _last_ name.”

“Lupin. That’s… well, that’s a flower, isn’t it?” Snape looks completely taken aback.

“Are you daft?” He asks. “You’re a _Black,_ Regulus, tell me you don’t know any Latin.” Oh, _Latin,_ because of _course_ Regulus could have guessed that. 

“Lupin,” He mutters, “Wolf.” Snape sits back with a gleam in his dark eyes that says Regulus should have put the pieces together. It takes Regulus a minute, but the pieces slide and click into place. His throat goes dry. Those scars all over Lupin’s face, neck, arms. Regulus watches him and Sirius interact in the Great Hall more times than he’d ever admit, and he’s seen Lupin look weak and pale on more days than not, but he’d never thought- he’d never _ever_ thought- 

“A werewolf?” He whispers, and Snape nods, looking incredibly self satisfied. 

“Give _that_ to the Lestranges, and you’ll be well rewarded.” Regulus watches as Snape leaves, thinking over the information he’s just received, thinking about what to do with it. Whose lives he could choose to ruin.

**r**

When winter holidays inevitably arrive, Remus almost feels bad about going home. He’d like to spend the whole holiday with friends, or at the Potters’. But it’s his first Christmas without his mum, and he’d wanted to be there for his dad, but found himself very much surprised to step out of his fireplace and right onto a toy truck that had of course cracked beneath his foot, causing the owner of the truck to burst into tears.

The living room looks like a disaster. Even more of a disaster than usual. There are camp beds set up, toys strewn everywhere, clothes hangers stuck onto bookshelves, and kids, of course there are kids: there is little Simon, sobbing over his truck, and a sullen looking Phillip reading one of Lyall’s books, and Aoife, eldest of the three, placing what looks like a basket of Cyflath- Welsh toffee- onto the living room floor.

“Christ, Simon, stop crying,” Remus kneels down and mends his little cousin’s toy with a simple _Reparo._ The toddler looks amazed, and stares up at Remus with watery green eyes. “ _Yes_ , little lad, there you go! It’s all okay!” Remus straightens up and looks at Phillip, who seems to be ignoring him. “Alright, Phillip?” He asks rather pointedly. Phillip glances over.

“Alright?”

“I dunno, I’ve just stepped out of the fireplace and you’re here, in my house, with all your brothers and sisters. Where’s Luke?”

“Adults took him for a walk.”

“And they’ve left you here by yourself?” Phillip shoots him a glare of pure malice.

“I can look after myself, thank you very much.” So Remus gives up on Phillip and tries for Aoife. She seems to be preparing Christmas dinner, and the kitchen is so crowded with food that Remus now understands why she’d been leaving dishes in the living room. 

“Hallo Remus, how are you?”

“Smashing, how about yourself?” It’s been years since Remus has seen Aoife, since him and his dad’s side of the family don’t mix much, and she’s a teenager now, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and seems to feel right at home amidst the chaos. She looks to be busy dressing the turkey, and when she looks up at him, her face is completely taken aback. Remus hadn’t had many scars at all, last time they’d seen each other. He’s surprised that Phillip hadn’t said anything. 

Aoife has enough tact not to comment, but her eyes linger on his face as she pauses in her cooking in the way that so many people’s do, flickering up and down as they take in the scars, and Remus nervously rubs at the scar cutting his jaw; it seems that as soon as he touches his face, Aoife realizes she’s been staring, and breaks her gaze away.

“Isn’t it a little early to be making Christmas dinner?” Remus asks, and Aoife shrugs.

“Mum’s putting all the food under a stasis charm, so it’s fine.” Remus always forgets that his Aunt Selwyn is a witch. She’d dropped out of Hogwarts after failing most of her O.W.Ls in fifth year, gone traveling, found a Muggle job, and fallen in love with a Muggle soon after that. Neither Phillip nor Aoife are magical, but they’re still waiting to see if a three year old Simon will exhibit any magic. 

Aoife asks if Remus can cook, and upon receiving an affirmative, gets him started on the mash. His dad, aunt, and uncle arrive with the rain, banging about in the house with their noisiness, and Remus steps into the living room to greet them all. Aunt Selwyn gives him a bone crushing hug, Uncle Terry claps him on the shoulder and makes some joke, Luke jumps on him, and Lyall doesn’t really do anything, just says hello sort of warily, in the same vein that Remus greets him.

It is too crowded for all of them to be there, and Selwyn and Terry’s family are sleeping in the living room because the house is so small, but Remus is still surprised to learn that his dad has moved back into his old bedroom. When Remus limps up the stairs and into the small hallway of the second level, he peers into his parents’ bedroom to see that it has been rearranged. 

The bed is now by the window, the lamp has switched sides, there are some bookshelves along the wall, and the flowery bedspread on the bed is gone. Remus feels an odd aching in his heart. This is not the room that his mother lived in, nor the one that she died in, and that’s okay. That should be okay.

There’s the telltale creaking of loose boards behind him, and Remus glances behind him to see his dad standing there. 

“Hi.” Remus says.

“Hi.” His dad replies. “It’s good to see you.” 

“You too.” Lyall looks better than he did over the summer, healthier, less like a zombie.

“You okay?” His dad asks, eyes flickering up towards the bedroom. Remus nods. “I know it’s hard, but we’ve got each other.” Remus nods again. His dad is frowning, looks to be thinking of something more to say, and then decides against it. He steps back to allow Remus to take the few steps to his room, and doesn’t follow.

Christmas Eve is when the real sadness sets in, and Remus sits in the cramped living room and remembers when his mum and dad cleared all the furniture aside, put on some old music, and swing danced with each other. Stars in their eyes, red cheeks, huge smiles on their faces as they laughed, danced, twirled each other around with youth and liveliness and love. 

“Here,” Lyall says, and Remus looks up to see his dad trying to find a space to sit near him. He clears some of Simon’s toys off of a chair and onto the floor, then sits down next to Remus, and hands him a photograph. 

It’s like Lyall had read his mind. It’s a photo of Remus, Hope, and Luke at the bottom, barking up at them and snapping at their heels. Remus’s mum is trying to twirl a younger Remus, and both of them are laughing out loud. Wizarding film keeps Hope alive, and Remus watches her spin him around, laughing, hugging him, then turning to look out and she makes eye contact with the real life Remus, and she smiles. 

“Er.” Remus says. “Thank you.” There are tears hot in his eyes and he swipes them away, watching the photo shake in his hand. 

“It’s a bit chaotic here.” Remus nods in agreement. His dad takes a long pause before continuing: “Would you like to go visit her?” Remus nods again, throat too choked to speak, and his dad stands up again, moving towards the door, telling Selwyn that they’re off for a walk. They don’t speak on the walk up to the churchyard. It’s raining, and Remus’s jacket is so thin and worn that he’s freezing, but he doesn’t complain. 

There’s a Christmas Eve service taking place in the church, and it is aglow with light, and Remus can hear echoing voices from inside as he and his father tread through the wet darkness to the graveyard behind it. It had been Hope’s church, when she decided to go. Remus takes a long look back at the small building behind them, all the windows bursting with warm yellow light. When he turns back, he sees dark graves.

“We haven’t got any flowers.” It’s the first words spoken between them in a long time, and Remus feels bad about it, because they’re standing in the dark graveyard and there’s only wet, limp, dying flowers under his mum’s name. 

“That’s okay,” Lyall says. He waves his wand and a Christmas wreath blooms on the grey stone under Hope’s name. Remus bows his head and listens to the voices chorusing from inside the church. He can’t make out any words, barely a tune, but the sound of joy breaking through the drizzly air gives Remus some hope, comforts him in some small way. Him and his father stand out in the rain for a long time. When they are both soaked through and frozen, they start to go home.

“Wait,” Remus says very weakly as they close the gate to the graveyard, “Can we go to service?” His dad looks up somewhat warily. Lyall has never been religious, Remus knows this, but he is drawn to the life inside the church and Lyall nods, still silent. They take a pew in the very back, sneaking in as though they’re not allowed, but there is a cheer of life inside. 

People sing carols, warm faces turned upwards, and Remus relishes the warmth of worship and hope. Moments like these, when he is brought to church and witnesses a celebration of life, Remus understands that there is a God, and there is a heaven, and his mum is up there right now, and she’s singing along.

On Christmas Day, Remus gets a new jacket from his dad, and a record of a band called the Ramones. His cousins get toys, books, clothes, but Remus is oddly grateful for his two gifts. The jacket is new. Remus has been wearing used clothes for his whole life. Lyall tells him the Ramones are punk, that they’re Americans but he thinks 1977 is the year for a British breakthrough, and Remus thinks he agrees. 

Aunt Selwyn pulls him aside to give him her present: a small oval locket on a copper chain. When Remus opens it, he finds two photos inside: one of his mum, a portrait, with a genuine smile on her face. She’s younger, maybe in her twenties, and the picture is black and white muggle film. The photo on the other side of the locket is an old family photo. Remus is maybe four years old and sits in front of his parents with a huge, toothy and mischievous grin on his small face. Unscarred. His parents look proud and happy.

“Keep it close to you,” Selwyn says, gently closing the locket and pressing it into Remus’s hand. The locket glows with warmth. “Don’t let go of your family, Remus.” Remus does not know what to say. Selwyn seems to understand and touches him briefly on the shoulder, not hugging for once, and Remus gives her a look of gratitude. 

Christmas dinner is joyful and loud. The seven of them crowd around the small table that’s creaking under the weight of all the food that Aoife, Remus, and Terry cooked (Selwyn loves cooking but seems to have trouble not burning her dishes), and Remus eats more than he thinks he’s ever had the chance to consume in this house. 

He wonders how they’ve managed to afford it all: an entire turkey, two types of potatoes, cranberry sauce, roast veg, and Bara Brith in place of pudding. Simon spits potatoes everywhere and Selwyn vanishes the mess, all of them except a grumpy Phillip and a food-covered Simon have plenty to drink, and Remus can almost forget that this table should only be set for three, not seven, and that this is just overcompensating for the loss of one person. 

One Hope.

Remus goes to find Sion on Boxing Day. The clouds are heavy and the day cold- a sharp smell of snow in the air that will fall as slushy rain or sleet instead. It’s not raining yet, and Remus finally feels properly warm in his new jacket. Owen opens the door when he knocks, and smiles broadly at the sight of Remus.

“Remus, hello! Happy Christmas!”

“You too, butt! Sion around?”

“Isn’t he always? Come in, come in.” Mrs. Pembroke lays one eye on Remus and descends on him in a shower of hugs and positive affirmations; Remus has to struggle out of her grasp to finally breathe again, and then Sion appears, his sly grin cutting his face the same as always. Remus is invited to stay for lunch, which he tries to deny since he’s spent the past few days overeating and is starting to feel sort of uncomfortable about it, but Mrs. Pembroke says he’s _far_ too thin, which is mostly an overstatement these days, and Remus eats their leftovers diligently, and makes a good stab at conversation. 

Sion gets them out of lunch early enough for Remus to thank him, and they escape the warm, kitschy house out into the frozen Welsh winter. Remus lights up a fag as they stroll down the block. 

“Where to?” Sion asks.

“Anywhere,” Remus replies through a puff of smoke. They walk around the town, talking as though they’ve just seen each other yesterday, not months ago.

“I’ve been shagging lots of blokes,” Sion tells him rather boldly. “There’s a whole arsenal of them if you look closely enough, and it’s mostly those poor, repressed rugby players that need some help.” 

“Wow, Sion, very _loose_ , aren’t you? How are they, the rugby players?”

“Well, I forgot to bring my measuring tape last time,” Remus laughs out loud, “But they were _loads_ bigger than you, Remus, so I won’t delve deep into details in case you get jealous, like. Are you still together with Sirius?”

“I never said we were together.”

“You didn’t have to. Are you?” Remus drops his butt on the wet sidewalk and crushes the ash out.

“Yeah, we are.”

“Lush.” Sion smiles at him. “He’s a cool bloke.” Remus nods. “A bit strange, though. We had some strange conversations when we were camping out over the summer.” Remus glances up at him.

“Like what?”

“Asked me how concerts worked, we had a long talk about amplification.” Remus grins and shakes his head.

“He’s been sheltered.” 

“If you say so.” Sion seems like he’s about to say more, as though maybe he will finally ask Remus a question about the mystery of those strange wizarding textbooks, and how he got all those scars, why Sirius doesn’t know a single thing about the world they live in, why Remus goes off to boarding school in Scotland when he’d do just fine at the state school that the rest of the kids in Mold go to.

But he doesn’t bring it up. 

Remus hangs out with him over the next few days. Sion will always be his best mate, he thinks, with a special loyalty. Sion is someone to come home to, someone who is the last to know but first to understand, and someone who doesn’t mind that Remus is hardly ever physically present, and when he is there, his mental health is lacking.

Sion says “Love you” on Remus’s last day there and Remus says it back, wishes they could kiss goodbye but won’t cheat on another partner with Sion. Remus is due to spend the last few days of break at the Potters’, to attend their New Years’ party and then have the next days with the Marauders, but he asks himself if he even wants to, at this point. Remus is beginning to think of Mold as somewhere to love.

On his last morning at home, the house is blessedly silent, and Remus tiptoes down to the kitchen to find his dad drinking tea, reading the paper, and eating a piece of toast. This is progress, the way there’s some assorted food in the house, or the way his dad doesn’t look as though he won’t wake up the next morning.

That’s something else Remus had been unfairly scared of over the summer, a strange paranoia he’d never shared with anyone, not even Sirius: his dad dying. Lyall had seemed so lifeless, incredibly depressed, finding it hard to even speak to Remus. Remus had heard him crying many times through the walls. Remus had been reminded of himself during a period in life where he had not wanted to continue living. 

But here they both are. 

“Hiya, good morning,” Remus says, “Happy almost-New Year.” 

“You too.” Remus makes himself a cup of tea while his dad thinks of something to say. “Have fun at the Potters.”

“Thanks.” Remus heats the water using a charm, not caring if his dad has something to say about it, and drops a teabag in. He carries it back to the table and sits down across from his dad, who watches him almost warily.

“Breakfast?”

“Not hungry.” Lyall nods. His brown eyes flicker over Remus. 

“You’re doing alright?” He asks. Remus nods, sipping at his tea. “And with the… the cutting?” Remus feels his face heat up. Over the summer, Lyall had finally worked up the guts to ask Remus about those red cuts all over his arms that showed up during new moons, inexcusable ones. Remus had been forced to admit the truth and made another promise to try to get better.

He’s kept it so far.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Remus realizes he’s being dismissive. “I haven’t done it in months. I’m feeling better.” For once, he’s telling the truth.

“Good.” Lyall looks relieved. “I’m proud of you, you know. I love you.” Remus glances up sort of sharply. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard his dad say those words before. Lyall meets his eyes for a long moment before looking away. The locket that Remus wears around his neck and has tucked beneath his jumper glows hot for only a moment. A few hours later, Remus leaves home again. It seems as though he can never stay for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok speaking of one shots related to this fic, i AM working on the sirius & sion one but i actually wrote a different one way faster.  
> it's set in the summer of '76 and is from lyall's pov. it's basically just about him and remus figuring out how to get along with / live with each other now that hope is gone. lmk if you're interested in reading it!


	90. [YR 6] Your Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics are from 'your song' by elton john which is also the song that sirius plays for remus. if you haven't listened to it yet, today is the day

**_1976 → 1977_ **

_ and you can tell everybody that this is your song _

_ it may be quite simple, but now that it’s done _

_ i hope you don’t mind, i hope you don’t mind that i put down in words _

_ how wonderful life is now you’re in the world _

**s**

Sirius finds some sort of strange comfort in sitting in people’s back gardens and lighting up a cigarette. Him and Remus did it often, sitting at opposite sides of his little wrought iron table and smoking fags, watching the smoke curl over their heads like question marks, leaving their clothes smelling like tobacco, smelling like Remus and therefore home.

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground outside the Potters’. Sirius tilts his head up as the small flakes drift down. They melt on the ground, on his face, and in his hair, and he drags the iced flakes out of his hair with his fingers as he takes another long drag on the cigarette, cheeks hollowing and then he blows smoke up at the sky. His day hadn’t started well.

Sirius had woken up from a nightmare most familiar to him. Walburga screams in an indecipherable language and there is always a dark wand pointed at him: his head, his chest, his throat. Sirius cannot understand, and the only thing he knows is that he’s terribly afraid. When he’d jolted awake in the guest bedroom at the Potters that is now known as ‘Sirius’s room’, he’d been unable to move his body, completely paralyzed, and for a few minutes he had convinced himself that he was dying or something had gone awfully wrong.

When the sleep paralysis had worn off and Sirius had finally been able to move his right arm, which his brain had been screaming at him to do for the past five minutes, he had descended into harsh sobs of released panic. The bedroom walls had closed in around him. Sirius had staggered outside, barefoot, into the frozen morning and has been sitting out there ever since.

The back door swings shut and Sirius turns, cigarette dangling between his lips. James is balancing two cups of tea in each hand, and a thick fluffy blanket is wound around his shoulders. There is a pair of socks levitating behind him. 

James says “Good morning” in frank understanding that Sirius has had a bad night, and presents him with a hastily accepted cup of tea that steams warmth and is Remus’s favorite type: catnip. It’s an eccentric flavor, and the leaves themselves are intensely bitter, but the tea tastes  _ green,  _ that’s Sirius’s best word for it, and it reminds him intensely of Wales. He sips at it while James dumps the blanket and socks into his lap, then sits down in the chair beside him.

“Don’t want you to freeze, Pads.”

“Ta.” Sirius keeps the lit cigarette in his mouth as he gets situated, pulling on the socks, wrapping himself in the blanket, and then holding the fag loosely between two fingers as he sips the tea. He gestures at James with the cigarette, perpetually asking his friend if he wants a drag, and James shakes his head the same as usual. Sirius tilts his head as he takes another pull. Snowflakes melt into his steaming tea.

“Moony’ll be here later,” James says. “Same as Peter. You okay for the party?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Had a bad night.”

“Moony’ll make me feel better.” James stares down into his own cup of tea. Sirius clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, finishes off the cigarette, and vanishes the butt before taking another few gulps of tea, feeling it warm him to his core.

“Sirius,” James begins, and Sirius looks over at him feeling somewhat afraid just by the use of a first name, “Are you and Remus, like, together?” His dark eyes flicker up to meet Sirius’s, but then he breaks the eye contact. Sirius wonders how he should go about this conversation. 

The most simple thing to say is  _ yes,  _ and Sirius has his own tendency to over explain, to say things he shouldn’t, and he knows that Remus wants to keep them secret, but James is  _ James.  _

“Yes,” Sirius tells him simply. “We are.” 

“Cool.” They sip their tea. 

“Please don’t tell him that I told you. He wants to keep it a secret.”

“He does a rather bad job of it.” James’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp, but he quickly makes up for it by saying, “I won’t tell him.” Sirius just nods at him. He doesn’t know what to say. 

The snow has slowed, but there are flakes in James’s dark hair, and Sirius remembers when he had been younger and confused their friendship with something  _ more _ , when he had felt he loved James the same way he loved Remus, and the way, sometimes, he still does; it will be in the way James laughs, the words he speaks, his casual affection, his loyal friendship, or the way snowflakes melt in his thick hair. James is regarding him coolly, curiously, over his mug. 

There is a spark of something between them, a golden thread that has tied them together for the past six years, one that Sirius had trodden on and torn by moving away from James and crashing hard into the comfort of someone new, someone like Remus. Sirius has a million unspoken gratitudes resting in his chest, the ones he feels whenever he’s at the Potters’ house and feels like he doesn’t deserve to be, and Sirius doesn’t speak them out loud because it never feels right. 

When Remus arrives, Sirius loses the feeling altogether.

Remus is wearing a dark blue jumper, his typical corduroys, taped up boots, and he has a new jacket, and there’s the thin, subtle chain of a necklace in between the hollows of his collarbones. He looks tall, lean, handsome. His face quirks into a smile when he sees Sirius, and Sirius wraps him up in a huge hug, wishing he could kiss him there, in the living room of the Potters’, wondering if he ever will be able to. Remus hugs him back but briefly, a public sort of hug, and he pats Sirius’s shoulder in this odd way as he steps back.

They are denied proper affection for the entire night. Remus seems to be in a good way after his Christmas at home and talks with strangers at the party; Sirius feels unlike himself and clings to Remus like a small child, following him around the house as it fills with people. In the kitchen, pouring themselves drinks, they come across Alastor Moody, head of the Aurors, who regards the pair of them with some sort of recognition.

“Remus Lupin,” Remus tells him, shaking his hand. “We met a few years ago.”

“Ah, yes, good to see you again.” Moody’s voice is gruff, and his face has a large, raised scar stretching across it, sort of like Remus’s. His brown hair is long and tied away from his face, but he smiles at Remus. “I know your father, lad, he’s a good man. Hard worker.” Remus nods with this strange look of pride. Moody turns his gaze on Sirius, who straightens up to the best of his ability, but feels his face heat as Moody stares at him. 

“I’m Sirius,” He says, reaching out his own hand. “Good to meet you.” Moody is not as enthusiastic to shake his hand, and Sirius knows it’s because of that unspoken last name. But then Moody says something completely surprising:

“Fleamont’s boy?” Sirius’s face feels even hotter. He nods. He’s never been called that before, never been actually attributed to the Potter family, and he is surprised to find himself emotional about this. Moody smiles at him. “He’s told me about you. Brave lad. You two are seventh years, then?”

“Sixth.” Remus explains. Moody looks thoughtful.

“Any considerations for careers?” Remus glances at Sirius as though unsure.

Sirius says, “I’m fighting,” and Remus then looks away. Moody, however, looks privately thrilled. 

“Already decided, have you?” Sirius nods. “Good lad, there.” The older man claps Sirius on the shoulder. “We’ll be happy to have you. The both of you?” He looks at Remus, who is playing with his necklace, flipping the locket on it between his fingers nervously.

“Haven’t decided yet. I’m thinking it over.”

Someone calls Moody’s name from a throng of people, and he gives the two of them another once over, and his gaze lingers on Sirius for longer than it should with some form of interest quirking his eyebrows, then he wishes them a happy New Year and then moves off into the crowd. Remus flickers his fingers over the locket, catches Sirius looking, and tucks it back beneath his jumper. 

“What were you thinking, Pads, whiskey or rum? Oh, look, they’ve got vodka!” Remus pours them both drinks and they hang with their backs against the counter, legs bent behind them, gosipping quietly about the faces they’ve seen, people they’ve met, and Sirius enjoys this quiet time a little more. It only lasts a few minutes before Remus sees another familiar face.

“Alice!” He calls. “Oi, Alice!” Alice Fortescue has shaved her head and her hair looks as though it’s just begun to grow out; her hand is linked with Frank’s and he’s dragged through the crowd as she pulls him over to where Remus and Sirius are standing. Alice looks badass, Frank looks cool, and after Alice hugs Remus tightly and gives Sirius her own warm greeting before holding up her hand and squealing out loud.

Remus peers at her cluelessly, Sirius spots the engagement ring and feels a thrill of excitement.

“Oh, wonderful!” He claps his hands together in excitement. “When did you get engaged?” Remus finally catches on as Sirius says it out loud.

“A few months ago,” Alice says, grinning broadly, “Frank finally remembered he owes me a wedding.”

“And when’s the wedding?”

“In the spring, I’m hoping. You two are definitely invited!”

“You’d crash it anyways, Sirius,” Frank tells him grudgingly, but there’s a smile on his face. “So we felt obliged to invite you.”

“Have you got drinks? Oh, lush!” Alice beams at Remus as he hands her a glass of something amber and familiar. She knocks it back, like a shot, and shakes her head with eyes closed tightly while Frank looks on with adoring eyes. “There’s a piano here, isn’t there? Shall we go play? Come on, Frankie, let me lead the way.” Her ring-adored hand winds back through with her fiancee’s, and Sirius is forced to follow. 

He brushes against other people while moving towards the parlor where the piano sits. Sirius has only just become aware of how big he’s gotten and how his body unintentionally infiltrates the personal space of others.

“Can either of you play?” Alice asks as she sits down, resting her drink on top of the piano. Frank conjures a coaster to slide under the glass, and shoots Sirius a wink. Remus just holds his hands up in a gesture meaning  _ no,  _ but Sirius had been subject to a multitude of piano lessons as a child, and admits this to Alice, who immediately scoots over to make space on the bench for him. 

She proposes a duet and Sirius sits down next to her, pushing his hair off of his shoulders, acutely aware of how his thighs spread out when he sits and how they are bigger than hers, how their bodies touch without meaning to. Alice starts playing a tune and Sirius picks up with a harmony. He’s always been able to pick up on songs by ear, having trouble reading sheet music, and Alice seems the same; they fill the already loud house with song. 

It doesn’t last long, playing Alice’s songs with her, looking up to see Frank and Remus leaning on the piano, nursing their drinks, eyes glowing with love for Alice and Sirius respectively; the Prewett twins arrive and Alice is whisked away by the grinning gingers, Frank still trailing behind her. 

Remus sits down on the bench next to Sirius, comfortably close, and reaches out to press a key.

“Play me a song,” He says, turning to grin at Sirius. “Something I know.” Sirius skims his fingers over the keys and thinks, briefly, of something he could play to woo Remus on the piano, for Sirius knew if he played the electric guitar that they would be rolling around in bed by now. 

So Sirius taps out the intro to a tune that Remus recognizes, and Sirius sees this in the way his eyes widen, his face reddens into something past tipsy and into embarrassed, and Sirius sings the words very quietly; a Top of the Pops song of genuine lovestruck  _ sap.  _ There is nothing like Elton John to spice up a pureblooded New Years’ party.

It’s loud enough in the house that the wizarding families can only hear Sirius playing out a tune they’ve never heard, his voice is quiet because he’s really not the best singer ever, not nearly as good as James, by any chance, and Remus is smiling out of maybe pure embarrassment, his eyes bright, his face red, and he giggles when Sirius leans into him, singing, “I hope you don’t mind that I put it down in words, how  _ wonderful  _ life is now you’re in the world.”

“You’re such a sap,” Remus whispers as Sirius keeps playing, getting more theatrical about it, singing just a little louder. A few people around them are listening, not really watching, and Remus resorts to covering his face with one hand as a way to perhaps help with the embarrassment, and Sirius ends the song, still singing. Remus fans his face with both hands in a way that Sirius finds rather charming, girlier and more expressive than Remus most ever is.

“You’re really good at that, at piano.” Remus looks down at the glossy white keys in front of him and then back over at Sirius. “Go on, play something else.”

So Sirius plays “Imagine” by John Lennon next, mentally singing along this time, and is given the fright of his life when a round of applause seems to echo out of the living room. His fingers stutter over the keys and he glances up to see Lennon’s biggest fan, Marlene McKinnon, striding towards them with James and Peter behind her.

“Hiya, Marls!” Remus says, standing up to greet her.

“Hi, hi!” Marlene kisses him on the cheeks, checks that he’s had a good Christmas, and then gives Sirius a hug. He’s not having a good night and comes to realize this at the shock of shame that bolts through him when his belly bumps awkwardly into Marlene and she has the tact to say nothing, but he catches her blue eyes giving him a good look-over that means she’s definitely noticed his weight gain. 

Sirius is supposed to be confident. Sirius isn’t supposed to be standing in the corner of James’s garden, back by the house, holding Remus’s hand in the dark so others can’t tell. Marlene, James, and Peter are all excited about 1977 and Sirius can only hope it will be better than last year. There is a countdown that Sirius doesn’t participate in because he’s pining, wishing he could take Remus’s face in his hands and kiss him in between those bursts of fireworks but he  _ can’t,  _ because two boys can’t kiss like that in public…

The countdown continues. “Six, five, four, three… two… one…  _ happy New Year _ !” The Prewetts’ magical fireworks explode and Sirius sees champagne colors burning his retinas and around them cheering, kissing, shouting, then someone has his face in  _ their  _ hands, and Remus kisses him softly, his mouth a little scratchy with stubble, and his breath sharp with alcohol; Sirius doesn’t kiss back at first because he’s surprised and then Remus pulls away, wiping his mouth, smiling.

“Happy New Year, Pads.” 

They don’t get plastered to make James happy, and they only go to bed around one thirty. Sirius lies in his bed for a long time before Remus sneaks in and brings the warmth of life with him; there’s something changed about him, something that Sirius can’t place, and it’s an energy more than anything tangible.

Sirius knows dark magic because it snaps in the air with tension and smells coppery, like blood. There’s something fiery and uncontrollable about it; it makes you feel like bad news. Someone tells you your mum’s died, or there’s a hurricane coming, or you’ve only got two weeks left to live. It's a plummeting in the bottom of your stomach, tears in your throat, at least to Sirius, it is awful.

Something about Remus’s magic feels like the opposite. He makes Sirius’s face light up. Sirius feels like stripping down starkers and running around in the garden. He  _ wants  _ to get plastered, wants to play the piano and make so much noise that everyone wakes up and they will all be happy together. It’s a sense of warmth in community, and Sirius embraces Remus as the other boy laughs, arms around him, mouth warm against his skin.

“What-  _ what _ ?” Sirius asks. “What happened to you? You’re so….” Sirius gestures wildly with his hands. Remus is indescribable. His amber eyes glow in the golden lamplight and he takes off the jumper, flattening his hair, pulling at the locket around his neck. Around others, in a house full of magic, Remus hadn’t seemed that different. Now, he’s almost  _ breathing  _ light magic. Something the opposite of dark.

“Has someone cast a spell on you?”

“You have,” Remus grins, and kisses Sirius so hard that his head spins. There is laughter in the bedroom and Sirius forgets his insecurity as he tears off his clothes like he’s still ten stone instead of thirteen and a half and actually, legally,  _ overweight,  _ which makes Sirius sick to think about except Remus does not mind if he’s fat. Remus doesn’t maneuver around his belly as though it’s something upsetting and in the way, Remus runs his hand down Sirius’s chest and across his stomach while Sirius feels chills go down his spine.

“Ah, fuck.” Remus’s hands slipping further down, into Sirius’s pants, finding his hard cock. 

“Fuck.” Remus’s mouth can work wonders. Tongue, a little rasp of teeth, and then the wet heat of a mouth. He bobs his head up and down, Sirius gasps over his head. Sirius gasps. He’s achingly hard, moves his hips so Remus takes him further, but Remus looks up with a spit slicked, smiling mouth, and asks if he can ride him.

Remus gently eases himself onto Sirius’s cock, scarred chest moving up and down, that thin necklace chain dark on his tan skin. Sirius cannot form words, or think anything except for  _ Remus  _ as the other boy starts moving up and down, his scarred face a picture of bliss: eyes closed, mouth open.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I love you.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Sirius falls asleep with Remus’s breath hot against his neck, arms twined softly around his stomach, very warm under the covers.

They wake up late on the first day of 1977 and Remus plays his Ramones record front to back for Sirius before they venture down for breakfast. The music is loud, fast, gritty. Punk. Like the Stooges, but Americans, and they’ve got things to chant, too, and Sirius can imagine seeing this music live and dreams of the dirty glamour of New York City. This is Sirius’s new favorite record, finally swiping the spot from Iggy’s “Raw Power”. 

Everyone but Fleamont is down in the kitchen when Sirius and Remus stumble downstairs. 

“Your music woke me up, Sirius,” Euphemia tells him. 

“Not mine!” Sirius points at Remus as he sits down at the table, spooning a heaping pile of eggs onto his plate and then dumping a considerable amount of bacon on top. “Remus’s record.” Remus grins at Euphemia as she pours him a cup of tea.

“Sorry, Effie, I got it for Christmas. A muggle punk band, the Ramones. Want to hear?” Euphemia smiles as she hands him a plate. Sirius can’t believe that she’s made a proper fry up after being up late partying with the rest of them last night. 

“Oh, I think I’m alright. Heard my share this morning.” Remus takes eggs, some sausages, and potato hash, and starts eating slowly while Sirius reaches for more food; he always eats quickly, in small bites, perpetually worried that he will at some point go hungry and there won’t be any food to put on his plate.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk about war.” All four boys look up at Euphemia who stands in the kitchen and starts to speak to them about topics that they’ve already made up their minds about. “Especially last night, with everyone here. And I’ll have you know, James and Sirius, that while you’re in school, and living under this roof, there will be no fighting. You are just boys. You are not going to war.”

Sirius chances a cursory glance at James who sits with his shoulders oddly straight, meeting his mother’s eyes boldly. Sirius looks at Peter, then at Remus, and then at the table. 

“Mum,” James begins, “This is literally home base, headquarters, for whatever’s going on. Dad is in charge.”

“Your father is not in charge.”

“Where is he, then, right now?” James stares at his mum brashly. Sirius doesn’t like this argument, and feels worried. “New Years’ Day, and he’s at the Ministry, isn’t he? Cleaning up?” Remus looks over at Sirius, eyebrows knit in concern.  _ Another attack?  _ he mouths. Sirius shrugs. 

“James-”

“If he isn’t in charge, then who is?”

“James, your father is not the one who came up with this, this was not his idea, and I am sure he’ll be encouraging you to join but you will not until you are finished with your studies.” Euphemia’s voice has taken on a tone that Sirius has never heard, and he sits still, anxious for no reason. “Is that understood?” James doesn’t reply for a moment. “And Peter, same goes for you, I’ve spoken with your mum and she doesn’t want you fighting either.”

“I know…” Peter’s very quiet.

“And Remus…” Remus looks uncomfortable under Euphemia’s gaze. “I can’t speak for your dad. But I’m sure he doesn’t want his only son going off to war at seventeen years old, and neither do I.” She says this with a pointed glare at James.

“I understand,” He tells her. “I understand.” Her gaze moves to Sirius.

“Me too.” 

“Good.” Euphemia’s cold front melts under her warm, familiar smile. “I’m off for a walk. Enjoy your breakfast, boys!” And she wanders out into the parlor, probably headed down the street to gossip with Peter’s mum. All of them are silent for a moment. James has a stormy look on his face. Peter looks pensive. Remus just pale. Sirius looks around at them all. 

“We’re not sticking to our word, are we, lads?”

“No,” James scoffs, the first to speak up. “My dad’s not in charge, it’s Dumbledore who’s leading it all, but my dad’s up there too, him and Moody. This  _ is  _ headquarters. If there’s something to do, I’m going to help.” Sirius and Peter nod. “I’m going to do some good,” James tells them, “There’s no bloody time limit on that.” 


	91. [YR 6] Is There Somebody Who Can Love You?

_i know it’s me that’s supposed to love you, and when i’m home you know i’ve got you_

_is there somebody who can watch you?_

**reg**

“There’s a werewolf at Hogwarts. A student.” Regulus’s voice does not tremble, which is a relief, as he had sort of been expecting it to. Rodolphus’s dark eyes sharpen exponentially, and he leans forward with a grin like a vampire’s; Regulus wonders if he will bite him, suck out his blood, and animate his cadaver into an Inferi. This is a wildly extended metaphor and Regulus assumes he’s been reading too many books.

“Is there? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you have a name?” Regulus shakes his head and wonders if he should be ashamed of himself, throwing Remus Lupin under the bus like this but removing any name or identity from him altogether. Regulus is doing what he’s supposed to, almost, except he’s doing it wrong. Regulus is a coward but knows he’d feel worse if he’d answered Rodolphus’s question truthfully.

“I just know.”

“Do you know what year he’s in? She?” Regulus fucking _hates_ lying and hasn’t thought this out enough. He’s back in Bellatrix and Rodolphus’s dark flat, and there’s another glass of wine in his hand, so he supposes they’re loosening him up to tell the truth. There was an attack last night, another one for New Years’, and Regulus was involved. Regulus is more often than not involved. 

They ask him to come and so he does. They tell him the spells to cast, the words to say, and he says them, points his wand and casts the magic that is so often weak and useless, because the heir of the Black family is halfway a squib because his magic is so _weak,_ and Regulus gets angry about it. It’s not like anyone has a clue, anyone but maybe Sirius or Barty. It’s the way that anything Regulus’s friends can do takes three times longer for him to master.

It’s the way that they say Muggles are awful, disgusting, shameful enough to kill and Regulus sometimes feels like he’s more Muggle than wizard. Self hatred and taking it out on the innocents. It makes Regulus want to laugh out loud. He has been given the power, in this situation, and there’s something so _freeing_ about being able to cast the smallest spells and knowing it’s _that_ which sets him apart. 

And so Regulus tells the Death Eaters about Remus Lupin without mentioning his name over winter holidays and returns to school just to be tutored by a kind, fair, awfully impartial Remus Lupin and Regulus _can’t,_ he’s too fucking _sensitive,_ and so he abandons the tutoring. There is something about Remus that is so patient and so un-werewolf-like; the sixth year seems to radiate positive magic, and Regulus feels a good deal of guilt when it comes to what he’s done to Remus.

There are werewolves in the Forbidden Forest, and they were not there before. 

Regulus hears them howling on the full moon. 

He had been in Theodora’s dorm after curfew, snuck in as the Prefects were on patrol, and he and her had been talking (to be honest, they had been snogging), and then they had been cuddled up in bed, a little awestruck about the fact that Regulus is spending the _night,_ and then he’d heard them howling. Theodora had tensed up at first, and then sat up in bed. She had been a shadow in the darkness, small in an oversized shirt, and she runs both hands back through her hair as she listens.

“Werewolves,” She whispers. There’s multiple voices tearing through the nighttime, and Theodora shivers, wrapping both arms around herself in some form of a comfort. “They’re close.”

“We’re safe, though. It’s just because of the full moon.”

“I know…” Theodora stares into the dark, heavy curtains. She holds her breath. More howls. 

“Let’s get some sleep.” Theodora shakes her head as though coming out of a daze.

“Yeah... sorry.” She gently lays back down in her narrow bed and turns to look at Regulus with wide eyes. “That’s my boggart, you know. A werewolf.”

“Is it?”

“My parents used to tell me so many awful stories about them as a kid and I was just scared. I even had nightmares, about being bitten. It’s scary.” Regulus had probably been told the same stories as her. He’d been raised to think that werewolves were dark creatures: great slavering, murderous beasts and then grown up to get tutored in Charms by one. This one has a Prefect badge, wears corduroy trousers, and smokes roll-ups. 

“They’re only wolves on the full moon, though, aren’t they? The rest of the month, they’re just normal people.”

“You sound like a werewolf-rights advocate.” Regulus doesn’t reply to her because she means it as some sort of an insult, and Regulus is supposed to be intolerant. Regulus remembers Sirius screaming on the parlor floor as he was tortured and Regulus knows that to avoid the Cruciatus, to avoid disownment and a lifetime of estrangement and hurt, he must be intolerant. He has to keep it up. 

Regulus abandons Remus and moves on to someone dumber than him and closer to Sirius: James Potter. Regulus catches him on the Quidditch pitch because he knows it’s where Potter will be in a fair mood, and he’s rewarded when he runs into the older boy after a Slytherin team practice. 

It’s only fate that Potter is in his own corner of the changing room, talking to a seventh year Gryffindor named Hyatt who Regulus only knows from playing against in matches. Members of the Slytherin team mutter about the two Gryffindors pulling on leather gloves and scarves to prepare for the frozen night on the pitch. Regulus takes his time while cleaning up the gear. Team captain, Georgina Bulstrode, does not like picking up on responsibilities and Regulus sort of finds comfort in performing the tedious duties of tidying up.

When the Slytherin team have all filed out, Regulus catches Potter just as he’s about to follow Ibex out the door.

“Hey, Potter.” Potter turns, eyebrows raised in interest. He has his Nimbus 1000 in one hand, and has the other one on his hip. For a brief moment, Regulus wonders if Potter is going to catch on to what he’s doing and do something wild, like punch him or hex him. Instead, just like Lupin, he’s oddly civil, and says,

“Regulus, what’s up?”

“This is going to sound stupid,” Regulus begins, “But I was wondering if you had any…. leadership… advice. For becoming captain, you know, because Bulstrode is awful. And how… how did you do it?” Potter looks ridiculously flattered and smiles broadly at Regulus, puffing up his chest. 

“I’d love to give you some tips! Here, why don’t you come out and practice with us?” Regulus hesitates as his hands are still thawing out from the frigid weather conditions, but Potter pats him on the shoulder very familiarly and steers him out of the changing room; Regulus bows his head against the cold wind as Potter chatters happily to him about his organizational skills and how he times the practices so members of the team have maximum energy.

“Joining us, Regulus?” Ibex calls down to him. Regulus finds it interesting how neither of them use his last name, as though it would be too familiar to call him the name that he shares with one of their close friends. Regulus nods, shivering against the chill, and mounting his broom while Potter passes a quaffle to Ibex as they begin to warm up. Regulus watches his breath huff out like a white cloud in front of him and realizes his hands are so cold because he hasn’t put his gloves back on.

He balances low in the air and rolls up his sleeves to tug his gloves back on, shoving his frozen fingers into them, and shuddering with a chill as he pulls his Quidditch robes tighter around him and looks expectantly at Potter, who is watching him with a curious expression on his face.

“Good hols, then?” Ibex asks, playing with a snitch in his fingers. 

“Yeah.” Regulus flies up higher, finally situated for the weather, and moves into the rhythm of flying. “Pretty boring, how about you?”

“Same as. I’ve been working at this job repairing broomsticks for years, and they’ve finally promoted me to something barely more responsible. But better pay! Jolly good Christmas gift, if you ask me. How about you, James?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Lots of people about the house, you know, my dad’s all busy with- work…” 

“What does he do?” Regulus asks, knowing full well that Potter’s dad is the owner of a hair potion empire. 

“Sleekeazy’s, you know…” Potter trails off as he tosses the quaffle lightly in both hands. He changes the topic, tossing the quaffle to Regulus and telling him that although a Quidditch captain plays only one position, it’s the all-around skills that matter, and Regulus has more information to tell Rodolphus that easily.

Potter has said so little and it means so much. Regulus knows how to put the pieces together. ‘Lots of people about the house’ and ‘my dad’s all busy with work’ has nothing to do with the hair potion, none of this has anything to do with a blasted hair potion, it’s the fact that the Potters have something to do with whatever ‘resistance effort’ Rodolphus and Lucius keep mentioning; they will be glad to finally hear some confirmation.

They will be glad that Regulus is working with them.

**j**

James had seen it when Regulus rolled up his damp green sleeves to pull on his gloves and stared at it for a split second, maybe, the dark black ink against Regulus’s pale forearm, the snake and the skull- a symbol of genocidal hatred on the arm of a fifth year who just wanted help with Quidditch. 

Whether either of them like it or not, Sirius and Regulus bear a rather striking resemblance, and James had felt this very odd sadness upon seeing a face rather like his best friend’s watching him warily after pulling his sleeve back down, hiding that Dark Mark, and James had been forced to pretend he hadn’t seen it at all because he couldn’t very well pull out his wand and kill Regulus on the spot to prevent him from attacking any innocent Muggles in the future, you know, that’s now how these things work. James, Hyatt, and Regulus played out in that wintry rain and when they finished, James felt this compulsion to tell Sirius what he had seen.

When he sees Sirius sitting in the common room next to Lily, her head on his shoulder in a gesture of familiar comfort, James doesn’t feel jealousy but feels bad for what he has to do, because not telling Sirius would be much worse than telling him.

“Hey, Sirius. Lily.” The two of them look up at him. Both of them look sad. Sirius doesn’t even have a hint of his grin on, and Lily’s eyes pass across James before she looks back down at the sofa and sighs. “Padfoot, I need to talk to you.” Maybe it’s not the right time, judging by the looks on their faces and how Lily sighs when she lifts her head from Sirius’s shoulder, and they have been holding hands because Lily unties hers from Sirius’s and rests it in her lap, looking so incredibly forlorn. 

James must be looking rather severe for Sirius to not fight him back, and they go upstairs to the dormitory and James tells him, “I’m just going to cut to the chase because I don’t know how else to tell you and I’m sorry, mate. Your brother’s got the Dark Mark. I just thought I’d let you know.” Sirius gazes as him with grey eyes and James wonders if he’s heard him. 

“Oh.” He’s incredibly subdued. For the first time, James wonders what him and Lily were talking about. 

“Yeah, I was out with Hyatt on the pitch and Regulus was there, wanted some advice, and we practiced, and he rolled up his sleeves and I just… I saw it.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” It’s a very grey day outside. Late afternoon, four or five, and the sun has begun to set although behind the thick layer of oppressive clouds, it’s hard to tell. Sirius looks incredibly sad. “Could you give me a few, d’you think?” Sirius drags a hand back through his hair and looks at the window, then at James.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Cheers.” James leaves the dormitory, still in his wet and cold robes, and feels rather disconsolate as he returns to the common room, where there is not much action save for the comfort of a crackling fire and Lily Evans staring into it. James approaches her cautiously. 

“Mind if I sit?” She looks up at him and shrugs. He sits on the farthest bit of the sofa from her and chews his cheek nervously; Lily hasn’t said anything and James already feels hot and nervous. If the roles were reversed, James would have been asking about the news and why Sirius hasn’t returned, but Lily doesn’t have anything to say. 

Instead, she tells him her sister’s engaged. 

“Oh,” James says, “That’s nice.” Lily shrugs again. “What’s her name?”

“Petunia.” 

“Oh, that’s cute. Flower names.”

“And my mum, too. Violet.”

“That’s lovely.” Lily smiles vaguely but it doesn’t even reach her eyes. She doesn’t look at James, just stares at the fire, and James knows that there is more than a sister’s engagement to be sad about today. “What would you name your daughter- Hibiscus? Bugleweed?”

“I’ve always thought Snapdragon would be nice.” She’s smiling properly now. “Though maybe Geranium?”

“Goatsbeard?” James responds, and her smile turns to a grin. 

“I think Skunk Cabbage is the winner, in the end.” 

“One word or two?” Lily laughs out loud.

“The first name is two words, Skunk Cabbage Evans.”

“And the middle name?”

“Elizabeth?” James laughs too, not having to fake it, and Lily finally looks up at him and her green eyes have lit up and she’s no longer all sad and grey and bleak. A little humor has always gone a long way. They talk, then, about middle names and flowers; James learns that Lily doesn’t have a middle name and she laughs out loud when she hears his.

“Fleamont?”

“It’s my dad’s name, okay, have some class!”

“James Fleamont Potter…”

“It’s better than Sirius’s, anyways, his initials spell out S.O.B and we all know that his mum is _exactly_ that-!” And they descend further into laughter, and discuss more full names, but Remus’s really isn’t exciting at all, and neither is Mary’s. Lily asks James about what became of Juliana Dunbar, who Marlene has essentially taken under her wing. 

They’re the only two girls on the Gryffindor team this year, and it just so happens that they’re both beaters. Marlene had told James that Juliana had told _her_ that she’d started seeing something called a ‘therapist’ over winter holidays, which James assumes is some sort of doctor. Which is good? James tells this to Lily, who looks satisfied. She confirms that it is good and gives him a brief description of what a therapist actually is, and soon their relative happiness is interrupted by one Remus Lupin, dragging himself through the portrait hole on shaky legs. 

“Hiya, you two, getting along at last? Where’s Sirius?” Remus asks one question and doesn’t wait for an answer because the full moon is in two days and he looks dead on his feet and only has one thing on his mind: Sirius Black. He’s coughing right now, into the crook of his elbow, and the sound is throaty and rather disgusting.

“Upstairs, but be careful, he told me to leave him alone.” Remus wipes coughing-induced tears from his eyes and then regards James quite evenly and James knows that _him_ being told to leave Sirius alone is not the same for Remus. It didn’t used to be this way, but it is now. 

“I’ll go check on him.” Remus starts to walk up towards the dormitory and James sees that he’s limping heavily. His leg seems to catch, stiffening up, and Remus curses as he all but abandons his right leg and continues his tedious trek up to the dormitory, coughing all the way up. James watches him go. Lily looks from Remus to James and then sits up straighter, as she’s been mostly slumped over for their discussion. 

She looks like she’s about to say something, and then decides against it. She frowns, eyes still on the stairs up to the boy’s dormitory, and then she looks back at James. 

“Do you want to get dinner?” It had not been the question that James had been expecting. 

“Dinner? Yes! Let’s get dinner.” Lily stands up, smooths out her skirt, and gestures for James to walk ahead of her. He in his Quidditch robes, her in her uniform, and she smiles again at him in this way so strangely nice. 

“Lead the way, Captain Potter.”

“Of course, Prefect Evans.” She smiles at him again and doesn’t insult, or smack, or whip our her wand to hex him. All Lily does is smile and follow him out of the portrait hole.

**r**

Remus wakes up on the day of the full moon and can’t breathe.

His lungs are doing it again- crinkling in and out like a paper bag when he breathes, they are _crunchy,_ and he heaves desperately for breath while Sirius wakes up next to him, breathing slow and soft, then realizing there’s a problem as Remus puts a hand on his chest and gasps desperately for shallow breaths.

“Moony,” Sirius says, “Moony, Remus, what’s wrong?” Tears in Remus’s eyes and a lightheadedness that causes the bed and boy around him to go wobbly and sideways, and he gasps again and again, thinking he is trapped, and Sirius has pulled back the curtains and calls out loud for James.

Sirius is under the covers with Remus and calling for James. 

“Fuck!” Remus chokes out his words, scrambling out of bed before Peter and James can see the two of them together, and his head spins so alarmingly that he ends up collapsed on the floor. His throat is intensely choked and his head hurts so, so fucking badly but the only thing he’s fixed on is that Sirius was stupid enough to lie in his bed and call for fucking _help._

There is a lot of panic, Remus shouting at both James and Sirius as he processes this breathless heart attack, and everyone is moving about and then things go sort of black and fuzzy because Remus is not ingesting enough oxygen, and he properly comes to in a hospital bed many hours later thinking that his life is the biggest disaster ever to happen.

He’s usually not well at all before full moons, but it’s been a while since he spent the whole prior day in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey isn’t hovering around. There’s no curtains drawn around his bed. The wing is bright, white, empty. Remus’s hospital gown is scratchy on his scarred skin. It has been a while since he’s been here. He touches the locket around his neck, out of habit, and he feels better. 

Sits up straighter, and he can breathe again. It is a marvelous thing to take an unhindered breath. Remus pours himself a glass of water and leans back in bed as he sips it. Cool, crisp. He sighs contentedly, finishes the water, and slides out of bed to stand on shaky legs. His right leg sometimes seizes up to the point where it doesn’t work at all, and he isn’t surprised that today is a worse one; he limps down the hall to the bathroom and regards himself impassively in the mirror.

His hair is still brown, nose is still big, and there’s those pink and white scars slashed all over his face. But there is _something,_ lately, some odd kind of magic that makes him feel as though there is nothing wrong with those scars on his face, or the ones cut deep into his arms. That there is nothing wrong with a full moon except for how he wakes up unable to breathe and how sometimes he can’t even walk, but that’s just side effects.

He’s excited, tonight, for the moon itself. Not the pain of the transformation or the shame of waking up naked and bruised the next morning, but for that in between, when him and his friends are wild. 

But first, a recounting of the dangers of smoking from Madam Pomfrey. 

“Chronic bronchitis!” She shrieks.

“You’ve been brushing up on your Muggle literature, haven’t you?”

“Remus, this is not funny. I know that you smoke, everyone knows that you smoke. How long have you been doing it?” Remus shrugs because the truth would make poor Poppy keel over and die. “How long, Remus?”

“Since about third year-” She gasps, “But I’ve honestly been cutting back, these days.”

“Your lungs are inflamed, and any more smoking at the current moment is going to make it worse.”

“Bugger it’s a full moon tonight, isn’t it?”

“Remus, do you have any healthy coping mechanisms?” He’s ditched the self harm for the time being, and really doesn’t find himself desperate for a smoke like he used to, he just smokes for something to do with his hands and because it keeps him from getting anxious, mostly. Their discussion is generally brief because the moon is rising and Remus is still lounging about in a hospital gown as though he has any business being inside right now. He’s missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he’s hungry.

Remus thinks he might hunt tonight.

Madam Pomfrey walks him down to the shack, tonight, because he can’t very well do it by himself. Ever since the marauders became animagus, Remus’s transformations have become much less violent, but he’d done a proper number on his leg at home over the summer, and it gets unbearably stiff in the cold weather.

“I’ll have a good look at that leg tomorrow, okay?” Pomfrey asks once they enter the Shack. She hasn’t been in quite a while, and looks around with her lip between her teeth, watches in anxiety. 

“Okay.” Remus is trying hard to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Remus- I’m sorry.” This sounds rather like an impulsive outburst. “I’m so sorry that you’ve got to transform by yourself, in this _place,_ and that it’s cold, and you’re so very brave. You shouldn’t have to do this alone. Karma will come, you know, good things will come to you too.” Oh, if only she knew that the good _has_ come in the form of three best friends. 

Remus is happier than he’s been in years. And he smiles at her, this one genuine, and he says, 

“It’s okay, and thank you, _thank_ you, but I’m okay.” And he says, “I’m not afraid.” Pomfrey looks incredibly stricken as though she wants to hug him, and she swipes at her eyes in place of tears. Then she leaves, and Remus’s saviors arrive, and they are worried about him. Remus is incredibly, surprisingly calm. 

He tells them he’s got a Muggle thing called bronchitis and he’ll just stop smoking for a while and that’ll be fine, and he stretches widely in the thin hospital gown, hearing his human joints crack, and then Sirius says,

“Might want to take that locket off, huh?” Remus instinctively reaches for the copper colored necklace wound around his neck.

“Yeah, yeah, right, good thinking.” He undoes the clasp and holds the locket in his hands. Pushes the button on top, and it clicks open. Hope smiles at him, so beautiful and young, and then there’s the family, so small, but so untainted. A four year old Remus beams at the camera. His face is unscarred. He’s never felt an ache in his bones when the moon is full. Remus breathes out heavily, clicks the locket shut, and looks up at his friends.

“I haven’t got any pockets, can one of you hold onto this?” Sirius is the first to nod, extending his hand, and Remus drapes the necklace into his open palm. Sirius tucks it into his jacket pocket. All of a sudden and out of nowhere, Remus feels terribly afraid. He feels as though everyone is watching him, staring, intensely obsessed. His heartbeat picks up, sweat beading on his brow and under the thin gown, and then he can’t breathe again.

A breathless transformation.

Remus’s face lengthens, spine twists and his limbs jerk as they are stretched unimaginably and then they break, crack, and fur sprouts up on his hands, paws, face, snout, and he is more wolf than boy and then he is only an animal.

An animal who can breathe just fine, or an animal who never worries about whether he can or cannot breathe because it doesn’t really matter, now, does it, when you’re a werewolf? All you are is a dark creature with forty two pointed teeth in your mouth and they tear skin like the serrated edge of a scalpel, except less clinical if you think you can believe it. 

The Marauders leave the Shrieking Shack for the first time that night, early January in the year of 1977: Punk finally takes off in the U.K, Queen Elizabeth the second has her silver jubilee, France wins Eurovision, the IRA keep setting bombs off, Marc Bolan dies; these animals don’t know and they don’t care. 

They reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest- heavy and dense with humming, whispering life hidden right below the surface. Dark green, or black, depending on whose vision you’ve got. 

Moony opens his mouth and drinks in the scents of the forest: heavy earth, deep green of trees, and the smell of animals; rabbits, squirrels, deer, their raw meat and beating hearts, the way they scamper through the darkness and the way they are afraid. Moony runs. 

Padfoot sprints by his side, huge and jet black, keeping pace as they bolt through the darkness and their animal eyes lead to sharp vision in the heavy black of the forest. Leaves and snow crunch underfoot, branches and dirt, and Moony is the first to come to a stop, panting, hungry. Padfoot shakes out his dark fur and his pink tongue lolls in his mouth. His sides heave up and down as he catches his breath, and he regards Moony with something almost like curiosity. 

He grins, then, doglike and human at the same time, a canine with a cutting smile. Moony tilts his head up and howls. Padfoot joins in. Then they hunt.


	92. [YR 6] Little Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no plot in this chapter, just self indulgent fluffy smut ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> quotes are from richard siken's poem "little beast" that reminds me intensely of wolfstar and also never fails to make me lose my mind ❤️

_ he had green eyes, so i wanted to sleep with him. green eyes flicked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool- you could drown in those eyes, i said _

_ everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside _

_ his wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker than before, scars like train tracks on his arms and on his body underneath his shirt _

_ i couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but i wore his jacket for the longest time _

**s**

“Sirius,” Kiss. “Orion,” Kiss. “Black,” Kiss. “Wake up!” 

Sirius wakes up because there’s really no option not to, and he blinks awake from the warm darkness of sleep to see Remus lying next to him, and my  _ god  _ he is handsome. His eyes are green this morning, a warmish green with a pulse of yellow hazel shining through in the middle, and there’s gingery stubble on his face, and his lip is shining as he bites it loosely; Sirius is stunned as he always is when confronted with the frank beauty of Remus Lupin. 

There’s not much on his mind except for sheer attraction, and all he can manage to say is “Hi.” Remus smiles and Sirius feels a glow of warmth envelop him. It’s been like this ever since Christmas. Remus is happy, easygoing, calm: his best self. Sirius picks up on those vibes and the two of them are perfect. Remus moves back in to kiss and Sirius gives in to him in a way that sort of feels like he’s dissolving. It’s only after the handjob when Sirius catches his breath and lies in the safe warmth of Remus’s bed that he remembers it’s Valentine’s Day.

“I love you,” He tells Remus. “Happy Valentine’s.” Remus smiles back at him, and there is a hint of something sad there. Sirius remembers Valentine’s Day last year, when Remus had arrived home on the train looking wasted and tired, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes downcast and dark while still reeling from the death of his mother.

Sirius doesn’t remember the exact day she died. Late January, he knows. Remus hadn’t mentioned it, at least, and Sirius hadn’t noticed him any sadder than usual in the dying days of January. The full moon had been February 5th, and they had run free in the forest once again. There had been no talk of dead parents, and Sirius wonders if he’s done something wrong by not asking Remus about the anniversary, but he leaves it alone. 

Remus has been good this year. Good as in  _ better,  _ because Sirius had witnessed his depression firsthand and the ways it broke him down to nearly nothing, drove him to try suicide, and he’s still got those scars covering his arms to show for it, and Sirius had sometimes wondered if it would ever get better. Sirius had often wondered if Remus would be this way forever. And if Sirius would have to take care of him forever.

It’s apparently not the case, because Remus has been in an exceptional mood for the past few months. He lays back after both of them have finished with each other, had their fill, and Sirius doesn’t want to think about breakfast or nine a.m. Charms, Sirius wants to think about Remus Lupin washed out in gold. 

Monday morning and both of them are grinning as they enter class. It’s so easy to be in a good mood when your boyfriend’s in one too, even when they’ve got double Potions in the afternoon. Today, of course, for a fitting theme they are brewing Amortentia, which Slughorn tells them is the most powerful love potion in existence with this excited look in his eyes that says he can’t wait to see his sixth year students turn into bubble headed idiots once getting a whiff of this stuff.

Mary, who Sirius is partnered with, is usually just as dreadful at Potions as Sirius is, but today she says she’d like to smell the things she loves most in the world and Sirius wordlessly agrees, so they set to work trying to prepare the potion to their best ability. The heat of the fire burning under the cauldron and the pungent scents of the ingredients make the dungeon hot and wavering with strong smells.

Sirius rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, loosens the tie around his neck, and peers at the cauldron as the class period draws closer and closer to an end. The potion is a blueish white, shimmering, sort of holographic even in the badly lit dungeons. 

“Does it look right?” He asks Mary.

“Ha, do you think I should take a sip and find out?” 

“I’ll pay you a Galleon for it.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would!” Mary just rolls her eyes at him. 

“You hate me, you just want me to lose my mind. Go crazy. I’d get obsessed with poor Danny and never be the same… a woman condemned to live a life of  _ mania!  _ The shame!” Sirius laughs and then smells the familiar smell of Wild Woodbines cigarettes- ash and woody- Remus’s smell, and he turns, expecting to see his boyfriend, but Remus is still sitting by the front of the room with Marlene. 

The smell lingers, though. Woodbines, a little bit of weed, a hint of catnip tea: lemon balm, grass, mint. Remus. Sirius stares around, sniffing.

“What’s up with you?” Mary asks.

“Sorry,” Sirius says quickly, “I just thought- I smelled…” He checks again to make sure Remus is where he’s supposed to be, because Remus standing by him would be an easier thing to believe than him and Mary having brewed the potion properly. Sirius feels his cheeks heat up as he says, “Fuck, Mary, I think we’ve done it properly.” 

“Yeah…” Mary has leaned over the cauldron, face propped up by her hands, and she has a dopey smile on her face. Sirius leans over the cauldron and takes a whiff perhaps much too strong- he’s immediately assaulted with enough sense to make his heart spin:

Woodbines cigarettes, cinnamon and orange and cardamom, laundry detergent, heavy wood, candlesmoke, burning wood, broomstick polish, catnip tea, marijuana. 

“ _ Fuck,  _ this is nice and lush. My god.” Mary takes another deep breath.

“What do you smell?” Sirius asks.

“Oh, my mum’s cooking, and air in autumn, like dead leaves, and London when it rains in the summer, and  _ coffee.  _ Ooh, I love coffee!” Mary has a big grin on her face and keeps sniffing. Sirius assumes her prior position, face propped in his hands, and dreamily smells these things, the smells of home and love.

Sirius mentally characterizes them. Woodbines are Remus’s. Cinnamon and orange spice, the Gryffindor common room at the beginning of term. Laundry detergent, James’s house, heavy wood, the smell of Hogwarts, candle smoke and burning wood just because, and Quidditch, Remus, and weed mixed with more Remus. 

When class is over, Remus comes and finds Sirius with stars in his eyes. They are in the company of Slytherins and Gryffindors alike but Remus has this look on his blushing face that says he would take Sirius’s face in both hands and kiss him real hard, right now, if given the opportunity. But they mustn’t. They are left to hide their feelings. Shrouded in smoke, rain, sunshine. But veiled all the same.

They manage to find each other in the Prefect’s bath later in the evening. Sirius had opened the Marauder’s Map to catch sight of one of the few names he specifically seeks out: Remus Lupin, in the bath and so Sirius had considered it very much a wordless, subtle invitation. There are cherubs flying around the school, shooting infatuating arrows and dropping glittering, magical hearts onto students and professors alike, and Sirius nearly misses one as he reaches the bathroom, speaks the password, and enters.

Remus grins when he sees Sirius. The bathwater smells like rosemary. Sirius comes in.

Remus’s body is wet, of course it is, and hot, because the water is warm, and he’s very much naked and very much  _ Remus,  _ all warm and slick, his body tactile with ridged scars that Sirius can feel as he runs his hand down Remus’s hip, lowers it to wrap around his cock. Remus shifts his hips up, a subtle invitation for Sirius to continue, and so he does.

The only downside to sex in the Prefect’s bath is that once you’ve finished, it’s a rather vile idea to sit around in a swimming pool sized bathtub filled with your bodily substances, and still Sirius and Remus get right to work because today is a holiday of love and maybe they’re trying to prove that, and Sirius thinks in the midst of all this, with his sex addled brain and all, that he is here and alive, that he exists, his heart beats, he is alive and so grateful to be. 

  
  


**l**

The downfall of the Prefect’s bathroom is that there’s no way to tell if someone is inside. Lily’s never walked in on someone before, because she knocks very loudly, calls out “Hello?”, and waits a few minutes for a response. Usually, someone will call back something like “I’m in here, sorry!” or there will be silence, which means it is not occupied.

Tonight, no one calls back. 

If Lily had arrived maybe two minutes later, she would have heard the very loud, very vocal noises that Sirius starts making, this whiny and high pitched panting, and would have understood that someone was  _ shagging,  _ in the  _ bath,  _ and not come in, but she had definitely not expected to see Remus being the one  _ doing  _ the shagging, pressing Sirius against the wall of the pool-sized tub, bending his head forward as he, too, makes this choked moaning sound in his throat, literally crying out in pleasure.

What. The.  _ Hell _ ?!

“Ohhh,  _ fuck, LILY!”  _ Remus shouts, his words decidedly in a different tone than before, and Lily takes her leave.

“ _ Lily _ ?!” Sirius’s voice is both confused and incensed, most likely wondering why his lover iis calling out Lily’s name during sex. Lily slams the door of the Prefect’s bathroom behind her, absolutely mortified, cheeks on fire. She had suspected something between Remus and Sirius for quite a while. She’d caught them  _ snogging,  _ for Christ’s sake, but had chalked that up to something most likely impulsive and experimental. 

She had  _ not  _ expected to see them fucking. In the Prefect’s bathroom. About ten seconds ago.

“Wait, Lily, wait wait wait!” Lily hears squeaky footsteps, smells something soapy and like lavender, and turns to see a soaking wet Remus sliding down the hallway after her with a towel wrapped around his waist. At this point, he is just adding insult to injury. “Okay, listen, that was just- erm, that was, please just- just don’t  _ tell  _ anybody, okay?”

Remus’s eyes are wild and then, Lily understands that he’s afraid. 

“Oh, no, I’m not! I’m not going to think about that ever again!” Lily laughs nervously. “Haha! What are you even talking about?” Remus shifts, pulling the towel tighter around his waist, and Lily looks at his bare chest, all shadows of his ribs and thick, upraised scars. “Do you think we could talk about this later?”

“Yes!” Remus squeaks. “Most definitely! Just wanted to, to, erm, check in, you know! Ahaha! See you later!” And he slides back down the hallway. Lily nearly takes off at a run in her desperation to leave the painful situation behind. Her face is burning with heat, and she’s completely overwhelmed even after the run back up to the Gryffindor common room, in which she enters looking for a form of comfort by means of a friend, except it’s Valentine’s Day on a Monday night and the only friend-like person she sees is James Potter, sitting quietly by himself at a table in the corner, writing an essay.

This whole day has been out of the ordinary.

James is wearing his Quidditch robes underneath the fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His dark hair looks damp, and Lily assumes he’s been practicing out in the cold. There’s a mug of tea next to him, an inkwell, and various papers stacked on top of each other. He’s very organized and completely concentrated on the essay at hand as his hand is scribbling loud enough for Lily to hear his quill scratching. 

Curious, she walks over across the room towards him. He’s mouthing words as he writes them, intently focused on the essay, and does not notice her approach. “Hiya, Potter.” He jumps a bit and up at her in surprise, a smile automatically blooms on his face.

“Hi Lily, what’s up?” Lily is still generally reeling from the encounter and doesn’t know why she’s gone to James of all people to talk to, and chalks it up to convenience since he’d been sitting right there, but Lily would be lying to herself if she called convenience the only reason. 

“Oh, not so much. Happy Valentine’s.” Lily doesn’t know why she’s just said that, as though Valentine’s Day matters at  _ all  _ to her, or if James cares at all about it, but he’s still smiling at her. 

“You too. No big plans for the night?” Lily shrugs and sits down. She feels this awful need to tell James what she’s just seen. She’s got to tell  _ someone,  _ or else the memory would strangle her and she really just needs to find a way to forget. Remus and Sirius. Remus and  _ Sirius.  _ Sirius Black, heir of one of the darkest, most ancient, pure blooded families out there is taking it up the arse from a half blooded Welsh werewolf. Jesus fuck.

And yes, Sirius had come out to them over the summer by so casually telling Mary he was queer, but Lily had not given it much thought. If required to, she would have expected Sirius to be the one doing the screwing. Not the other way around. And  _ certainly  _ not from Remus, who has always been a bit weird about his romantic encounters but Lily had never pegged him as being queer. 

“No,” She says, and then to remain indirect about it, tells James: “I just walked in on some people shagging in the Prefect’s bath.” James looks completely taken aback. 

“Did you?” Lily nods. James fiddles with a bit of parchment near his essay.

“It was properly embarrassing. Jesus Christ. I need to bleach my brain.” She puts her head in her hands. James now unfolds his piece of parchment, and then folds it back up again. He releases a shaky sigh. “Whew, okay. Distract me, Potter. What are you writing?” __

“Oh, it’s- it’s for next year. Seventh year thesis, whatever.”

“Oh, cool!” Lily had never thought of James as an academic type. “What’s the focus?”

“Transfiguration. It’s on theory, mostly, but there’s a lot about, er, Animagus.”

“McGonagall’s your advisor?” James nods and grins bashfully. 

“Minnie loves me, what can I say? What about you, have you thought up a topic for yours?”

“Erm, yeah, it’s about seeing if wizarding tactics could play a role in Muggle psychology, but specifically psychotherapy and, erm, psychopharmacology. Treatment, like. You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” James shakes his head no.

“But explain it! It sounds interesting! What’s the focus?”

“Muggle Studies and Potions-”

“Trust Lily Evans to have two focuses-”

“-and psychology is the study of mind, and behavior, sort of. The wizarding world has about absolutely no support for people with mental health issues, and so I’m going to try to fix that.”

“How do you mean mental health issues?”

“Oh, you know. Depression, anxiety, eating disorders, trauma. Lots of trauma these days, especially, with the war. It’s serious. It’s like wizards are prepared to heal physically, but mentally, they’ve no clue what to do.” James has been nodding along as though he’s actually listening. 

“That’s really interesting, actually. How do muggles treat mental problems?” Lily gives him an explanation and then, like some sort of feat of nature, they descend into an actually fascinating academic conversation that James holds his own in. Lily comes to realize that she actually  _ likes  _ talking to him, as shocking as it might be. The conversation cuts off when James’s voice dies and he clears his throat uncomfortably, staring across the common room.

Lily turns around to see Sirius climbing through the portrait hole, Remus right behind him. Feeling her face redden already, Lily turns back to James, who has this odd embarrassed look on his face. 

“Please tell me they aren’t coming over here,” She whispers. James shakes his head.

“They’re going upstairs.” Lily has her back to the rest of the common room, and watches James’s dark brown eyes as they follow the movements of his best mates. “...To shag in the shower, now, I’m sure.” Lily starts giggling and James smiles too, shaking his head a little bit. He says, “They’re crazy,” and Lily nods empathically, for ‘crazy’ is the best word to describe the pair of them. “And I cannot believe you walked in on them. Not even I have.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I try to avoid them at all costs when they’re together. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“That does not inspire confidence.” James just shrugs. 

“I know I won’t be going upstairs until later on tonight, that’s all.” 

  
  


**r**

Remus likes sex and he likes the afterglow of sex even better, when him and Sirius lie naked half under the bedsheets, when they can see each other through eyes that are not sex crazed and wild. 

It’s after their second round of the night, this one at half past one in the morning in Remus’s bed with a silencing charm hovering over them, buzzing softly so they know it’s there. No Lilys will be walking in on this show. Remus, for his part, has been trying his best to forget about that. 

Sirius is enough of a distraction, anyways, with his breaths slow and soft. He’s only wearing his boxer shorts. Thick black hair tangles down his shoulders, and his grey eyes glow softly in the faint darkness.

“Hey,” He says all quiet, “What did your Amortentia smell like?” Remus smiles to himself.

It had first smelled of rain. Damp earth, heavy grasses, cows and dirt and farmland. Wales. Then, home: melting chocolate, catnip tea, something baking- a pie or bread, floured and warm. And then Sirius, of course, as though Sirius could have stayed away from his dreams or the warm glowing potion in front of him: sharp cologne, worn leather, the unidentifiable smell of his shampoo and Remus had sat in front of this potion and last but not least smelled a warm whiff of weed smoke and Marlene’s jasmine perfume. 

“You.” Sirius listens. “You, Wales, home, chocolate, bread, weed.”

“Best things in life.”

“Too right. What was yours?”

“You,” Sirius says and he smiles all sly and handsome. “You, James’s house, Hogwarts, weed, cigarettes… catnip tea.”

“You’re joking.”

“Could never.”

“You hate catnip tea.”

“For all the right reasons, Moony, it’s bitter as anything. Smells good, though. Smells like you.” Sirius yawns and curls up tighter in the blankets. “We should stop shagging in the Prefect’s bath.”

“Not gonna argue with you on that one.” Sirius snorts a bit with laughter. “I feel like we’re way too… public about everything we do. I don’t know. Nevermind.” Sirius doesn’t push Remus to continue and it’s probably because he doesn’t agree. Remus fucking hates knowing that Lily has assumed a million things about his sexuality just by her awful misstep of walking in on him and Sirius. God,  _ christ,  _ it makes Remus want to kill himself just thinking about it. 

“‘M gonna go to sleep,” Sirius mumbles softly. "Love you."

“Goodnight.” Remus’s voice is a soft whisper. Sirius’s dark eyelashes flutter shut and his lips part slightly, softly, he sighs in comfortable content. Remus loves the Sirius that he gets to see. The rest of the world sees someone arrogant, funny, and sharp tongued. They don’t see him vulnerable or intensely kind. As someone who lends a leather jacket that Remus has begun to steal just because it makes him feel happy.

Sirius has changed since last year. Something about what had happened over the summer had broken him badly, and he hadn’t enough time to properly recover before going back to school. Hence the situation with Snape, hence the binge drinking. Hence fucking  _ everything _ . He’s a different person. Abuse does that; abuse ruins people and makes it so maybe you recognize that blurry face in the mirror but the words that come out of your mouth don’t sound like something you’d ever say.

Sirius has gained weight, too, and is bigger than he had been last summer. This can be attributed to a lack of Quidditch mixed with a surplus of alcohol, weed, and general angst that leads to comfort eating. Add Christmas with the Potters to the mix, and you are rewarded with Sirius Black and his squashy belly who feels very nice to cuddle up with in bed after great sex.

The thing is, Remus would love Sirius even if he kicked him in the face and told him to die. Remus would love Sirius if he gained twenty stone, or shaved off all his hair. Except Sirius is oddly quiet these days and insecure in public. See? He’s different. At the Potters’ New Years’ party, he had been shadowy and fit better into the corners rather than the life of the party. 

So maybe the both of them are changing, growing, doing it together. Coexisting. Living but doing it side by side. Remus takes comfort in knowing that he’ll fall asleep with Sirius next to him and wake up with that same, safe person still there. 


	93. [YR 6] Animal & Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for some descriptions of depression & some brief(ish) wolfy gore?? idk how to describe it lol

_ i know that i’m lucky, this makes me feel better _

_ i know that i’m lucky, this makes me feel  _

_ animal and real  _

**r**

A full moon on March 5th means that Remus will have a headache on his birthday and will probably have trouble getting out of bed, and his limp will be as heavy as the weight on his chest thinking that seventeen means freedom, being his own person, and also having to make the choice of registering himself with the Ministry.

The concept itself is so worrisome to him that he seeks out Dumbledore on the day of the full moon. Even the energy of Selwyn’s locket around his neck can’t cut through the heavy anxiety weighing on Remus, and he bunks off his friends’ plans for Saturday by instead nervously limping up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. Dizzy by the top, swaying and clutching on to the banister for support. 

Remus might feel better mentally, but physically he is worsening every month. He doesn’t want to think about the future, about the years and years stretched out in front of him, a calendar marked by a red circle each month signifying THIS WILL GET WORSE; Remus sees himself with a cane, then a wheelchair, then bed bound and dead. He wonders if he’ll make it past forty. His mum died at forty one.

Forces himself to take a deep breath, and it’s like he’s got to manually wrench the air out from between his ribs. Chronic bronchitis, he thinks. Fucking disaster. 

Dumbledore is sitting behind his grand, intricately ornate desk and smiles as Remus wanders into his office, even though he’s a sight for sore eyes: pale, sweaty, shaking like he’s cold except for the fact that he’s running a fever.

“Hello, Remus, how are you? Care for a mint?” Remus much prefers McGonagall’s shortbread biscuits over Dumbledore’s assortment of hard candy, but he accepts a mint anyways as he gracelessly lowers himself into a high backed chair. Dumbledore’s phoenix ruffles his flame colored feathers. He’s a handsome bird, and almost seems to smile at Remus. 

Remus pops the white and red striped peppermint into his mouth and hopes that the mint will quell the hot nausea in his stomach and the incessant aching of his head.

“So, my boy, what brings you here today?”

“It’s, erm, it’s my birthday on Wednesday. My seventeenth. And I need some advice on whether or not I should register with the Ministry.” Dumbledore’s eyes seem to sharpen.

“Ah, of course. A happy early birthday from me to you.” Remus nods his thanks. “The registry… well, if I’m being honest, I will admit that there is not much of a need to register other than basic responsibility. Registering will, at most, give you a lighter sentence in Azkaban if you ever end up attacking someone. But with the contracts they write up, it’s hardly possible. And it’s highly unlikely that you’ll be able to find work in the wizarding world if you’ve been registered.” 

Remus bows his head. His father had told him much the same, but it sounds worse, somehow, coming from Dumbledore. 

“Do you have any plans for a career following Hogwarts?” It’s a generally dreaded question for Remus, since the answer has and will always be  _ no,  _ but today there is something more on his mind; another option.

“Not a career, really,” He begins. “But James, James Potter, I’ve heard that his dad is heading some… some resistance effort, of sorts. Against the Death Eaters. And I know I’m too young to fight, but I’d like to. When the time comes.”

Remus hadn’t made his decision at the Potters’ house over winter holidays, but sitting in front of Dumbledore and realizing how bleak his future seems has led Remus to understand that there is one choice left for him now. 

And Remus remembers,  _ god  _ does he remember, standing side by side with his dad at his mum’s grave as it rained over their heads on Christmas Eve; this is selfish because if he dies in the war, his dad will be all alone and that’s bad, but weaseling his way out of necessary fighting is even worse. 

“I want to fight, sir.” 

“I am glad to hear it, Remus. You will be greatly helpful in a resistance effort, and so will your friends, too, if they decide to fight. The resistance effort, an Order, we’re calling it, was my idea. We are using Fleamont’s house as headquarters, and him and Alastor Moody are heading it.”

“Oh, I know Moody. We met at the New Years party. He asked if I was going to fight.”

“You, and Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are all… well, sought after, I’d say. By both groups.”

“By Voldemort?”

“You’re young, strong, passionate. Anyone would want you on their side.” Remus does not want to be  _ wanted  _ in this way, in the way that Dumbledore looks at him expectantly as though Remus would stand up and demonstrate his dueling skills then and now. The headmaster continues: “Since you are planning on joining the resistance effort, registering yourself would be completely unnecessary.”

There is intense relief at having someone make the decision for him. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Of course, Remus.” Dumbledore pauses. He knits his fingers under his chin and looks pensive, still regarding Remus closely. “There’s something else as well. Madam Pomfrey has been expressing concerns about where you go during the full moons, and has recently come to me once again about her morals in the matter. She has said that she thinks it barbaric to lock you up in a freezing shack-”

“No, sir!” Remus realizes he’s interrupted Dumbledore only after the fact, but hastens to continue. He’s shocked by the headmaster’s words. “No, no, not at all, professor, I’m so grateful for  _ everything  _ you’ve done for me. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it, because it’s- well- being at Hogwarts, being  _ allowed  _ at Hogwarts is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkle kindly at him, and Remus only feels obliged to continue.

“I am so, so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, and I wish there was some sort of way to repay you for it. Please, don’t listen to Madam Pomfrey. She only means well, but it’s okay. I’ve only got a year left, I’m fine.” The mint in his mouth cuts his tongue. Remus swallows it. 

Dumbledore is still calm, wordless. Remus thinks somehow that this wizard is the greatest man in the world. He had made Remus’s biggest wish come true as an eleven year old: attending Hogwarts. Remus’s parents had said no, but Dumbledore had said yes. Those cool blue eyes regard him carefully, and Remus thinks that he owes the headmaster  _ so _ much for all he’s been allowed to do at school. Thinks that there’s no proper way to pay it back.

Remus leaves the office feeling more tired than ever. He’s reached the tip of the iceberg of this war, and will now descend farther and farther into the frozen water until the top freezes over and he’s trapped beneath the surface. At war. A young soldier, disobeying his father’s wishes and indeed going against his own morals; Remus is not violent save for that phase in his fourth year, and he feels disgusted at the idea of killing.

A violent werewolf is a guilty werewolf is a dead werewolf. Double points if he’s unregistered.

Remus limps down the hall, thinking he’ll try to kip down and nap for a few hours before the moon to put these negative thoughts, quite literally, to sleep, but he doesn’t get that far at all.

“Remus, Remus Remus Remus!” Someone is singing his name, someone with a Welsh accent. Remus sighs and turns to see Caradoc rushing after him. The seventh year is grinning, but half of his face is bruised to hell, all purple and yellow, and up close, Remus sees his smile looks generally pained. “I’ve got your mushroom money.”

“Got into some action?” Remus asks as Caradoc counts out some coins in his hands.

“Yeah, you know.” Caradoc does not elaborate. “You look a bit peaky yourself, mate. There you go, twenty galleons, thirteen sickles...,” He pours the large metallic coins into Remus’s hands, “And thirteen knuts. Made  _ quite  _ a haul.” Remus is shocked by the return he’s made. And he only gets a small cut from Caradoc, so he can hardly assume how much the Hufflepuff had made. 

“Christ, Caradoc, this is a fortune. Have you got more? I’d love to do it again.” Caradoc’s brown eyes, usually so warm and lively, now have a hint of wariness in them. 

“Not so sure, butt. Nearly living in the real world, now.” The bruising on Caradoc’s face might be evidence of that. He’s a Hufflepuff and a stoner, he’s Caradoc Dearborn and doesn’t get into fights. Has he begun Auror training a year early? “I’m busier than ever. I’ll still be selling weed, don’t worry, but the shrooms were a one time thing, I think.”

Remus asks, “You’re with Dumbledore, aren’t you?” And Caradoc looks momentarily surprised, caught off guard in a way he hardly ever is, and recovers quickly with the same easy grin.

“How d’you mean Dumbledore?”

“You’re a piss awful liar, Caradoc. He’s just asked me to join up.” Caradoc drops the smile.

“Merlin, has he really? Good for you, lad! Only in your sixth year, though…”

“He’s not got me fighting yet. Has he for you?” Caradoc just shrugs in this closed off way so unlike him. Caradoc usually is known for oversharing: bold and bright and happy, and now carries the heavy weight of a secret over him in a very clandestine way that Remus already doesn’t like. That Remus understands more than anything. But it hurts to see his friend change like this.

“Not much to share about it, to be honest. Well, I’m glad we’ll see more of each other after I graduate. You’re a good sort, Remus.” 

Even after the kind words from Caradoc, Remus still feels unbearably heavy and tired as he drags himself back up to the dormitory. Sirius and Lily are in the common room, talking quietly, and Remus tells them he’s headed upstairs for a nap. The dormitory is quiet and empty. Remus only has time to unlace his shoes and curl up on the bed, fully clothed, over the covers. He’s so, so tired. His body aches badly. He’s sad.

Quiet solitude marks Remus’s afternoon. There is a heavy depression that weighs over him as he lies in bed, awake and staring around the dorm without moving his head. He feels incredibly ill. He feels like cutting himself. 

Remus sighs, disconsolate. 

The day passes so slowly, but when Sirius finally comes upstairs, the sun is setting.

“Alright, Moony? Ready for tonight?”

“I, erm…” Remus hates saying it out loud, that he’s feeling properly unsafe and afraid of himself, the way he gets around the moons, “I need… I’m feeling sort of… bad. You know.”

“Maybe we should go downstairs, hm? Can you stomach some food?” Remus shakes his head. “Want a joint?”

“Don’t want the bronchitis back tonight.”

“Dunno if it works like that. Come on, then, let’s get some tea in you, and we can put on Loaded, if you like, or Nico, and then you can head down. Alright?” Remus sits up, head aching so badly that his vision is going blurry, and he feels alarmingly nauseous. Out of habit, he reaches up to touch the locket around his neck, only to find it missing. That explains a lot.

“Have you seen my necklace?” He asks Sirius, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Hm? Did you take it off or something?”

“I dunno.” Instead of depression there is now the beginnings of useless panic working its way up his throat. Remus throws back his bedsheets and starts digging around for the small copper necklace while Sirius hovers behind in this typical unhelpful way and then receives the great idea, as though bestowed from god, to use magic.

“Accio necklace.” Remus pauses in his manic haste to see what happens, and low and behold, a small copper string comes flying out from underneath a pile of clothes and right into Sirius’s hand. “There you are.” Remus takes the necklace with Sirius with no thanks and clasps it around his neck. Immediately, the anxiety and depression seem to be blanketed by a strong and comforting warmth. 

Remus had his suspicions about the necklace before and now understands what Selwyn’s done with it. It’s full of a powerful magic: healing, blood magic. There is something whole and pure about the magic concealed in this locket. Remus could almost cry from relief. It’s the holy feeling of sitting quietly in a church and hearing voices rise up around him, voices of hope and worship. Remus sighs in contentment.

“What’s-” Sirius begins, cuts himself off, looks worried, “What’s inside?” Remus hesitates when it comes to taking off the necklace once again, and Sirius picks up on this in how he moves closer, close enough for Remus to feel his warm breath and his fingers lift the weight of the locket and click it open. 

Sirius looks at the photos: Hope, beautiful Hope, radiant in her youth. She’d always joked to Remus that she could have been a movie star and made it big in the world, and then she’d met his father. Lyall would always smirk at this tale of events but never corrected his wife. Then there is their young family. Remus is grinning with all his teeth, looking mischievous, Hope looks tired but happy, and Lyall proud. 

“Oh.” Sirius says. “That’s wonderful, Moony.” Remus is not ignorant to the fact that Sirius seems to reserve gentle kindness for him and only him; if James had shown Sirius some girly locket with family photos inside, Sirius would have made fun of James’s hair or the way his dad’s nose looked. He would have said worse for Peter’s family, if not for the fact that Peter shares nothing personal with Sirius for fear of being laughed at.

Remus doesn’t mind that Sirius is kind to him. Remus just wishes that Sirius reserved that empathy for everybody. 

The necklace automatically makes him feel better. Downstairs, Sirius produces him a mug of tea and puts on The Velvet Underground & Nico even though Remus likes Loaded better. Sirius loves ‘I’m Waiting for the Man’, though, so Remus lets the record play. Sirius seems to notice, somehow, that Remus only likes listening to the Velvet Underground or else anything with Lou Reed singing around the full moons. Remus loves his voice. Nothing else can tame a headache like Lou Reed.

Lily and James sit with them in the common room, the latter back from Quidditch practice and tired enough to not run his mouth, for once. Lily doesn’t even snap at him when he joins them. In fact, she seems to appreciate his company. Remus drinks his tea and listens to Lou Reed while the moon rises, and when he feels an unbearable ache in his chest that tells him it’s time, he quietly tells his friends that he’s got to go.

Lily watches with anxious eyes, takes his hand for a moment and tells him that she’ll see him tomorrow. It’s not like she can tell him sorry, or that everything will be okay. So an affirmation of him waking up alive and human the next day is comfort enough. Remus tells her the same. As he limps down to the Shrieking Shack, he wonders what excuses Sirius and James will make to leave to join him that night.

But that’s their problem, not his.

And later, the moon takes him. The wolf inside him is pulled out, it claws out through his throat and warps his body grotesquely as he chokes on the teeth and tongue and fur, he screams with pain, doubled over, and his bones break and reassemble and all the while he screams until they turn to animal cries of pain. Blood lust replaces reason. Remus is no longer. 

They leave the Shack almost immediately because once Moony got a taste of running free during the moon, he would never go back to being locked up. He shakes out his russet pelt and runs into the Forbidden Forest, legs stretching and flashing with speed as he runs, free. Padfoot, Prongs, and ever-present Wormtail follow close behind. And oh, how Moony relishes this freedom. 

He stops to hunt: squirrels, rabbits, fur between his teeth and warm blood down his throat. The raw flesh is tender and delicious. Moony gulps down a squirrel in a fit of desperate hunger, but the small bones crunch uncomfortably in his teeth and stick in his throat so he takes more time with the rabbit, removing the bones with his teeth and claws before scarfing down the small, plump body of the rabbit.

The forest is darker the deeper you go. Dark green is almost black by the time Moony loses the rest of his pack, and he slows down. He smells something familiar. He follows his nose, sniffing quickly as he pads across the soft, rotten forest floor. There is the smell of decay in the air. Pairs of glowing eyes are watching him. Moony stops. A wolf moves forward. His fur is grey, and his eyes yellow.

Moony stares at him. He stares back. More wolves step out from the forest, baring their teeth in sharp grins, shaking out their mangy fur, and this grey wolf is the alpha, even Moony can sense that. The grey wolf breaks his eye contact with Moony and moves past the younger wolf, fur brushing up against his, and Moony feels the electricity of animal contact. Then, together, they hunt. Moony finds a new pack that night. 

Among brothers and sisters, Moony is part of a family and feels this community that he’s never experienced before. It’s a sense of whole: that nothing is wrong and nothing could be made any better than this; pure happiness in the most raw, animal way. The pack howls, Moony howls. There is nothing wrong with any of them. They are not dark creatures, or creatures at all, just living things with hearts and brains like anyone, any _ thing  _ else in the world. Try to judge, I dare you, try being afraid and you can’t. Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it only right? 

Moony has never been so sad to see Padfoot as he is that night. 

The big black dog barks loudly as he finally catches up with them, a growl sharp in his throat, and there is a warning in the wordlessness. Padfoot barks again, loud. He runs up to Moony fearlessly, even though there’s scars that tear his black fur in two that Moony has left, and he nudges the wolf. Moony doesn’t want to go. Padfoot shoves him, now, pushing his heavy body against him and Moony snaps at him. Not angry enough to attack, but frustrated. Padfoot barks back, obviously angry and growling, his barks snapping and violent. 

The anger in the black dog’s movements finally gets Moony moving. They retreat to the Shack just as the moon sets. 

For the next few days, Remus dreams of the wolf pack but fails to mention it to his friends. They’d known he had run off and hunted, but that had been the main extent of their knowledge, and Remus in his own way is rather keen on not telling them that he’d spent the night hunting with a pack of wolves. And felt good about it.

Remus, for his entire conscious life, has been ill. There are flashes of memories before the bite: feeding ducks at a pond, rolling down a grassy hill and his dad shouting at him for the stains on his trousers except he’d looked up the hill to see his mum rolling down it all the same. Life before the bite. So fleeting, so bright and so young.

After the bite, Remus had been ill. Sickly. Always the excuse for having a son that looks abused: strange marks across his face and bruises on him every month, what else can you say, what can you do to defend him? You hide him away. And Remus had slowly come to accept the wolf. The sickness. 

Last night, Remus had not been ill. He had been alive, and he had been perfect, and he’s never felt like that in his entire life. Remus had grown to dread those full moon nights marked up so consciously on a calendar, held deep in his mind as a constant memory of what is to come, of something awful and bad that will happen. This full moon had been something new and so incredibly powerful. 

And yet, there will always be shame. Shame of transforming at all, and shame of running in the trees with wolves. Remus had spent the whole next day locked in the toilet with a terrible, terrible stomach ache and blood running out of him as he literally cried in pain, animal bones tearing up his digestive tract as they worked their way out of him. That’s not normal, nor is it good, and you can’t very well explain to your friends that you were crying in the bathroom because you’re shitting blood after eating raw squirrels, now can you?

Side effects of being a category XXXXX magical creature. 

Remus is healed enough on his birthday to get pissed in Hogsmeade nevermind that it’s a Wednesday night. The tunnel to Hogsmeade is terse with their celebratory tension, the anticipation of being drunk and loose but still being sober, now, as sober as Sirius and Remus are pretending to be since they’re as stoned as ever.

Hogsmeade is cold in March. Rainy and wet. Something that feels like home. They are seventeen year olds, or half of them are now, and the invisibility cloak feels childish and so they walk through those wet streets in their boots and muggle clothes because wearing a school uniform to drink in is not the best plan. And they drink, they laugh, they sing and Remus is happy. 

Sirius crows, “I’m a dragon!” and puffs his breath out into the cold night as they are spat back onto the drizzly, dark streets. He has his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, bringing the shining leather tight around him, and grins as Remus tosses him a pack of fags, telling him to breathe real fire. Click, flash, breath. Sirius breathes smoke. Remus lights it on fire. All of them laugh, except Peter, who’s a beat too late and had jumped back to avoid being singed. 

They’re all quite intoxicated and buzzing with energy. James had suggested leaving the Three Broomsticks to take a walk, and walk they do. Or try, at least. Remus takes a step forward and veers left, crashing into James. Both of them laugh out loud. Remus tries going straight again, concentrating very hard, but his right leg  _ aches  _ and so he goes left again, essentially walking in circles, and James starts giggling while Remus rights himself, frustrated and drunk, laughter turning into nasty hacking coughs. He doubles over, coughing hard into his elbow: deep, throaty, wet.

“Gross, Moony, you should quit smoking for good, like.” Even while drunk and slurring his words, James Potter has some advice to impart. 

“Mmmmhmmmm,” Sirius adds unhelpfully as he sucks on the cigarette. Remus straightens back up, body shaking with weak coughs, and he stares at sexy Sirius Black who brushes back his hair and lets that cigarette crackle with breath as he pulls on it. They keep walking. James presses his shoulder against Remus’s to keep him going in a straight line. 

It drizzles, and the four of them stand for a while watching the rain come down in the glow of a streetlamp. The village is quite empty, which is reasonable for late on a Wednesday night. They walk towards the forest and the Shack, at the edge of town. Remus’s ears pop. There is something in the forest, something writhing and alive, and his stomach feels warm. He feels dizzy.

“Remus.” Someone says. The warmth of James’s shoulder leaves his side. Sirius’s cigarette smoke is left behind as Remus limps away from his friends. He’s not sure why they don’t follow. He thinks they must feel it too.

Remus can’t see it, and he can’t touch it, and he can’t describe it. But he knows that it’s there, and he knows that it’s magic, and he knows that it’s within him. He exhales heavily. It feels like he can breathe easily for the first time in years. The air is so clear, so fresh. Remus keeps walking towards the forest. There is no illness within him. Only health. 

It’s like he’s been entranced, and so have the rest of them. Sirius is the first to come to.

“Remus!” He calls, and then footsteps. “Remus, come back,  _ Merlin,  _ what’s gotten into you?” His hand grips Remus’s arm and shakes him. There are roots under their feet. Remus hadn’t realized how close he had gotten to the forest. And yet, there is the earthen smell of pine and life, and he tries to shake out of Sirius’s grip.

“Let me.”

“Remus, that’s  _ dark _ ,” Sirius whispers, “This is dark magic, this is bad. Come on, love, please. This is bad.” Remus only follows him because Sirius’s eyes are afraid. “It’s dark magic. Black magic.”  _ Black  _ has a double meaning. Sirius knows this magic because it runs through his blood. He grips Remus’s arm again, harder than ever. “Let’s go.”

Remus walks with him back towards where the street ends. James and Peter stand in the darkness, only silhouettes, watching. Hypnotized by the magic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly (desperate??) reminder that comments are the best! feedback keeps me going!


	94. [YR 6] Trippin'

_ rippin’ with my sinners, cause fuck it, man, i ain’t no beginner _

_ and then i crawled back to that life and i said i wouldn’t live it  _

**j**

They wake up on Thursday morning quietly, nursing separate hangovers save for James, who still maintains the belief that he doesn’t get them. Peter and Remus have classes, but neither James nor Sirius take the same electives as them, and the room quiets after they leave. James sits and watches the Marauder’s Map for something to do, and Sirius shifts around in his bed, curling up tighter under the blankets, and trying to fall back asleep. The curtains around his bed are open and he looks tired. 

“Padfoot, are you awake?”

“Trying not to be,” He grumbles.

“Well, Apparition lessons today, are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” James allows the silence to permeate momentarily.

“Sirius?” Sirius grunts. “Last night was a bit mad, wasn’t it?” Sirius opens one eye. 

“Yeah, it was.” He opens both grey eyes, now, and pushes himself up in bed. His hair is tangled and thick all down his bare shoulders, longer than it's ever been, and he leans over the bed to assess the mess on the floor in means of finding a shirt while James does an unfortunate reminisce on last night.

It had been hypnotic and scary. He remembers Remus standing far away from them. Just a silhouette. The moonlight had reflected on the wet grass and everything had glittered up until the forest, where the light was stolen and never returned. Remus had stood at the precipice of that resounding darkness; all of them had been cast in shadow. 

James has no way to describe it. He still gets breathless thinking about it. 

Sirius has found a t-shirt and yawns dramatically as he gets out of bed, stretching so widely that James can hear the joints in his back pop. He pads across the floor to the window by Remus’s bed and opens it. 

The March breeze has a cutting chill. Sirius takes a very deep breath of the air. His long hair wavers back in the breeze. He wraps his bare arms around himself against the cold but keeps his face to the window, tired grey eyes lit up by the morning light.

Sirius tells James it was dark magic with a detached air. “Super dark, that’s why we all felt it,” He mumbles as he grabs his toothbrush from the bathroom. “‘S fucked up.” He explains this through a mouthful of toothpaste, and paces around the bedroom brushing his teeth while James ponders. 

“So there’s something in there?”

“There’s always something in there. It’s the Forbidden Forest.”

“But we’ve been in there before,” James continues, “And it’s never felt like  _ that _ .” Sirius is spitting into the sink. “Sirius.” When his friend returns to the dormitory with peppermint on his breath and a furrow in between his eyebrows, James understands Sirius’s aversion to talking about this but still, inexplicably, pushes on. “Mate, do you know what was in there?”

And Sirius’s white face goes whiter, his jaw hardens, he looks angry. Is it a challenge, or an accusation? James doesn’t mean it like  _ Sirius, you’re made of dark magic, aren’t you, mate? You can feel your bones buzz when something bad’s around so tell me, please, what was in there?  _ James just knows that Sirius and Remus felt it stronger than anyone because they have their own personal ties to darkness. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know, though, don’t you?” Sirius’s face twists and he looks ugly, momentarily, he looks like his mother, all haughty and scowling in his movements of pure avoidance. “Sirius, tell me.”

“It’s not a problem, and I’m not talking about it. Forget about it.” James wants to protest but Sirius has gathered up his uniform robes and returned to the bathroom; the door closes with a loud slam. Sirius never changes in the bathroom. He just wants to avoid James. 

James leaves the dormitory before Sirius returns and ends up in the library with nothing to do before class, working on his outline to hand to McGonagall before the end of sixth year. Seventh year is a bit different from the rest, as you still take classes but at a N.E.W.T level with very refined topics, and there’s a thesis type essay due at the end of the year. James’s is all about Animagus transformations and compounding the process into something easier to understand, and simpler. 

He works for a good hour in the warm peace of the library. After, he goes to History of Magic and continues on the essay there, paying little attention to the topic at hand. Then lunch, where he sits with Hyatt, Nate, and Nate’s friend Stephen- the keeper for Gryffindor. 

James feels less detached from Remus and Sirius than he did back in November, but they still all have their own personal friend groups. James has his Quidditch crowd, Remus has those nerdy tutoring friends and Caradoc and Benjy, as always, Sirius has Mary and her girlfriends, and Peter surprisingly gets on quite well with the Hufflepuffs: friends with Dorcas, Emmeline, Kingsley and the likes. 

And they are the Marauders as they have always been, but with separate groups because it wouldn’t really be growing up if there wasn’t a form of growing apart, right? 

All of them pass their Apparition tests the next weekend on the day before James’s birthday, and it’s the day when Sirius shares the rather clandestine fact that him and Remus are in possession of two tiny pieces of paper that will apparently warp their minds multidimensionally.

“To celebrate!” Sirius says, holding up the square of tinfoil over his head; it catches the light and sparkles with whatever goods lay inside. “And it’s your birthday, James, do you want to trip? I can split mine in two.”

“Erm…” James has never been one to back down from an adventure, but keeps himself rather detached from the drug scene that Remus seems to be most passionate about. James doesn’t smoke because he wants to keep himself in perfect condition for Quidditch, but tripping is something else entirely.

“I’ve an idea,” Remus offers, “You don’t need to take the acid if you don’t want. Caradoc’s given me some shrooms, and those are more… spiritual rather than psychedelic. You’ll see less, feel more, maybe. If you don’t want to feel bad. It’ll probably be more calm.” 

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Okay, well, listen. Acid is like… external. You see things, you want to dance, and sing, and scream, and it’s all lovely and beautiful. And shrooms make you… internally connected, I guess. More about you. Less seeing things and dancing.” James considers. There’s a look on Remus’s face that is judgemental and James hates it- just because he doesn’t smoke his brains out to then stumble around like an idiot every weekend doesn’t mean he is deserving of one of those  _ looks  _ from Remus Lupin, as though he himself can even judge.

“Yes,” James tells them perhaps in an effort to display his brave manliness, because it’s 1977 and if you haven’t taken acid yet, maybe your seventeenth birthday is prime time, “Yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll do the shrooms.” Remus grins and he looks oddly like Sirius with all his teeth on a wicked display like that. 

“Excellent.” 

James wakes up the next day a year older and surrounded by his friends: Sirius and Peter give him seventeen birthday punches while Remus, a self proclaimed pacifist, looks on and does nothing to help. He receives his grandad’s watch from his parents and marvels at the well polished surface of the face and the jewel-set stars that glimmer bravely as they shine and then dull as the hands of the watch approach them. 

He doesn’t want to wave it around too much because a few weeks earlier on his own birthday, Remus had received nothing but a card from his father as a gift and had been quite brave about the whole affair in stating that material possessions are rubbish anyways, but James can see that yearning look on his face as James’s presents are delivered with the mail. 

The best present he receives is a happy birthday wish from Lily, who sits across from him at breakfast and actually smiles at him. 

“Doing anything to celebrate? Setting off a legendary party on a Sunday night?”

“Why, Evans, sad that you haven’t been invited?”

“Just preparing myself for a night of cleaning up after you.” Her words are sour but she’s still smiling. “Really, though, no party?”

“Got other plans.” James is telling the truth. “It’s a shared celebration of our Apparition rights, too! How’s your ID photo?” Lily indulges him in this odd way that she’s begun to do, the way she talks to him is usually humorous, she smiles, she speaks without sounding as though each word is being dragged out of her, and then James is delivered a great shock to the system when Lily places a freckled hand on his arm and says:

“Really, James, happy birthday. Just don’t come to me to fix your alcohol poisoning tomorrow, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Lily looks like a dream as she shakes out her dark red hair, and she smiles, and James realizes he hasn’t asked her if she has any plans, but then she’s following Mary out of the Great Hall and James loses her in that moment. Besides, Peter is telling Remus and Sirius that he’s got a date for today because the three of them have decided to do  _ drugs,  _ and Sirius is pestering him about it.

“Who’ve you got a date with, Pete?” James asks him distractedly, still trying to hold onto the smell of Lily’s shampoo. 

“Betsy Hollingberry,  _ thank  _ you very much, and we’re going to have a great time.”

“Betsy Hollingberry,” Sirius mutters in a mocking tone to Remus, who has his chin propped in his hand disinterestedly. 

“Have a good time, yeah?” James tells Peter, who looks angry at Sirius but not brave enough to say anything about it. 

“And I’m sorry for missing your birthday, James, it’s only just-”

“It’s honestly fine, Peter, we’ve had this conversation. I don’t mind. Have a good time.” James is just as distracted as everyone else at the table. They’ve eaten, he’s gotten his birthday gifts, and now there is one last thing to do in means of celebration. Peter is left to Betsy Hollingberry as the rest of them make their way up to the dormitory.

Remus opens the windows on the sunshine so their room is lit up in shades of Gryffindor gold and then he turns around to regard the dormitory with an oddly severe air before saying something that James never in his whole life had suspected had ever crossed the mind of Remus Lupin:

“We really need to tidy up.” 

Sirius laughs out loud while James holds his hands up in a gesture that says  _ What have I been telling you for the past five years?  _ because Remus and Sirius’s half of the room displays five years of  _ stuff,  _ just compounded. 

“We can’t trip in here, it’s incredibly messy!” Remus calls over Sirius’s mocking laughter. “It’s going to stress us out!” And so James gives in and helps them clean because that’s what friends are for, and Remus gets bored twenty minutes in so he just shrinks everything into his wardrobe and jams it shut against the impending wave of stuff, and then magically produces the acid from somewhere and says- “Christ, this is so exciting! Let’s trip!” 

It’s an hour after taking their respective drugs that Remus asks, “Do you two have a longer lifespan?” 

They’re all lying on Remus’s bed. They lie with their backs in the middle and their heads and legs over either end, coming at it horizontally so they don’t have to lie together awkwardly in the middle, and James has an incredible headrush. Quite recently, Sirius had started muttering about seeing things and taken James’s hand for comfort. And James had taken Remus’s hand just to continue the chain, and here they are, lying side by side with their heads bent back over the edge of the bed and their hands twined. James in the middle, because it’s his birthday and he’s special.

“What?” James asks.

“Wizards, Prongs. Don’t you have longer lifespans?”

“You’re a wizard, Moony.” Sirius tells him gently from the other end of the bed. 

“Half blood. And a werewolf. I don’t think I’ll live very long.” 

“Fuck, Moony, that’s sort of bleak. And we do have longer lives, but naturally, so do you. Because you’re magic too.” They lie in silence for a while. 

“Can I put on some Funkadelic?” Remus asks. 

“Oh, Moony please, can we listen to the Beatles? Please? It’s my birthday!” So they put on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band because James has never been able to get enough of it, and Remus whines about wanting psychedelic guitar solos and Sirius whines about wanting punk while James screams over top of them:

“It was twenty years ago today that Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play! They’ve been going in and out of style, but they’re guaranteed to raise a smile!” James prances about the dormitory while shouting at the top of his lungs. “So may I introduce to you, the act you’ve known for all these years? Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!” Sirius whistles while Remus claps loudly. 

When the first song blends into the second, James cries loudly, “I fucking  _ love  _ this album, you know that, you can call me a poof for loving the Beatles but you know what, fuck you both, I’d die for John Lennon and I’ll take that to my grave!” Remus and Sirius just laugh at him. “And you know what, come on! Remus, you would marry Jimi Hendrix in an instant if he asked you!”

“Or Lou Reed,” Sirius offers.

“Your obsession with Lou Reed is positively pornographic.” James agrees. Remus crosses his arms defensively, but he’s grinning. Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds comes on, and it’s then that Remus and Sirius seem to hit their peak. It’s very fitting. The two of them sit down to stare at the cover of the record while James lays on the floor and thinks about Lou Reed. 

To be honest, James doesn’t find him very attractive. His face has always been somewhat monkeyish. Jimi Hendrix, though, he’s better looking. James doesn’t mind Jimi. His favorite rockstar to look at, though, is Lily Evans. James sighs to himself. The ceiling of the boy’s dormitory is rather uneventful, and though Remus and Sirius are giggling to each other about all the fractals and swirls they’re seeing, James feels quite unsatisfied and sits up.

“Heylo,” He says, jumbling up his words, “Can we go see Lily?”

“Lily?” Sirius and Remus say at once. Getting Better has started. Their heads snap up to look at James. Sirius grins. “Let’s go say hi to Lily!”

“I love Lily!” Remus adds. And so James pulls off the record, tucks it lovingly back into the sleeve, and then skips out of the dormitory with Remus and Sirius stumbling behind him. They wander down the hall to the girl’s dormitory where James knocks out a tune on the door and continues dancing to the Beatles inside his head while the door opens. Lily is there, just as they’d expected, and she smiles.

“What’s all this?”

“We wanted to come say hi!” Sirius says from behind James, and pushes into the dormitory. James is finding himself at a small loss for words and can only manage a gummy smile at Lily as the boys enter the otherwise empty dormitory and start staring around at the decorations. 

“We’re all tripping,” James explains quietly to Lily. She nods, looking around at the three of them.

Remus waves his wand at the fairy lights and they start sparkling merrily. Him and Sirius laugh, ask permission to sit on Marlene’s bed, and then laugh even harder as they stare at their hands and arms. 

“The scars  _ do  _ move!” Remus exclaims, holding out both forearms for examination. “Lush!” 

“Just like I told you.” Lily grins at him. James has no idea what they’re talking about. He walks over to where Sirius and Remus are sitting and takes Remus’s arm to look at. There’s more scars than ever before and James feels a chill down his spine as he examines the cuts, most of which are self inflicted. None are fresh, though. And they do move. The white, pink, grey slashes on Remus’s arms shift and pulse, and it’s like James can see the living life under Remus’s skin.

“Damn,” Sirius says. “Jesus. This is…” He touches Remus’s arm gently. “D’you mind…?”

“Go ahead.” James reaches out and touches Remus’s other arm. He runs his fingers along the ridged scars that breathe beneath his fingertips. His arms literally pulse with life, and when James looks up at Remus’s face, his amber green yellow eyes swirl and melt. The scars on his face wobble over his skin. He smiles, and his face is so kind. 

James forces himself to stand up and walk across the room. He feels as though everything is happening on a deeper level. Touching Remus’s arm, looking into his kaleidoscopic eyes, it’s an intensely platonic kind of love for his friends and now James thinks that going to see  _ Lily  _ of all people had been a terrible idea.

He stands at her open window and looks outside, taking deep breaths.

“You okay?” He turns and Lily’s standing there, her red hair breathing life around her shoulders. 

“Jesus, yeah. It’s a bit weird, is all.”

“I know, I took a tab over the summer. At Knebworth.” Remus starts asking Lily a question and she gives James an apologetic smile as she walks away to answer him. James listens to their conversation.

“...Any records?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some Queen, and Lennon, and Marlene’s got a load of American stuff from her brother.”

“Where?”

“In that cabinet.”

“Oh, I see.” There’s a silence which Sirius fills by humming loudly, half singing. Then: “Oh, fuck, she’s got Transformer!” James glances over. Remus is holding up Lou Reed’s album over his head. “Yes, lush,  _ yes!  _ Lou Reed all the way!” 

“Mooony loooves Loouuu Reeeed!” Sirius sings as Remus sticks on the record, literally shouting in delight as ‘Vicious’ starts playing. 

“Yes, I do, I’m in love with him, mmmm, this song is a fucking dream.” Remus laughs and starts dancing about as Lily walks back over to James, who has slid down the windowsill to sit on the floor, back against the wall. She sits down next to him. They watch Remus and Sirius dance with each other. 

“I think I’d like to live forever,” James tells her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot to do.”

“Got a list?”

“You know it. I want to go to America. I’d like to win the Quidditch cup once more. I want to fly on an actual airplane. Swim in a warm ocean. In Greece, maybe. And I want to go to a glacier. Walk on it, maybe. There’s a lot out there. There’s so much to do” 

“Yeah.” 

Remus is teaching Sirius to swing dance. He’s counting out- “one, two, three,  _ back _ !, One two, three,  _ back _ !” and they’re holding each other's hands while Remus pushes and pulls at Sirius as the other boy laughs. Remus holds Sirius’s arm up and twirls him. The look on Remus’s face is so caring. Sirius looks happier than James has ever seen him. 

James and Lily watch them fondly. 

Sirius keeps messing up the footwork but Remus has it all down and keeps twirling him, catching him, keeping the beat even though the song is too slow to swing to. Lily asks James to dance, and he does. They’re all subject to an enlightening swing dance lesson from Remus Lupin, who’s very adept at the subject and they’re all red faced and breathless by the time James gets too dizzy to continue. 

“Let’s go,” He pants, “Outside, how about? I want to fly.” And though Lily has become their honorary trip sitter for the day, she still agrees to take them out to the pitch for a good and proper fly around.

Well, Remus is seventeen years old, a literal werewolf, and still is afraid of heights so he and Sirius sit on the bleachers and probably share some sappiness about how much they love each other, so James hops on his broom and takes off, soaring up into the sky.

Everything is huge, wonderful, so far away and at the same time  _ his.  _ The ground stretches away below him as he flies farther and farther up. The huge green grounds sparkle with moisture. Hagrid’s hut is a brown speck, and his garden is a blur of lively color. The Black Lake glimmers under the sunshine, flashing momentary shapes at James, and it stretches away into nothing.

Then, the castle: huge and towering, gothic and dark, stretching up into the sky with the Astronomy tower poking the clouds. James has the castle at his back as he stares over the Forbidden Forest, writhing with dark life. Hogsmeade is a collection of buildings in the distance, grey and brown. The blue sky stretches forever and forever and forever. The clouds are organizing themselves into psychedelic patterns. 

James stretches his arms out and shouts: “Whoooo!” Next to him, laughter. Lily is on a school broom, a little shaky and her knuckles are white from gripping the handle so tightly, but she’s there all the same. “I can see the whole world!” James shouts, overjoyed. “It’s all mine.”

“Don’t get too big headed there, Potter.”

“Nah, I’m not.” James still hasn’t put his hands back on the broom, and keeps his arms loosely stretched out to catch the breeze. “This is the best day I’ve ever had. Best birthday, for sure. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” James takes a deep breath of the chilled air and watches the trees breathe. In and out as though there could be anything more simple. Him and Lily float up in the air for a while. From the ground, they look faraway, and Lily’s red hair blows behind her in the breeze. 

**r**

The coming down of an acid trip is indescribable, a quiet “what now?”, a disconsolate feeling of not knowing where to go from here. Lily and James had gone to the Great Hall for dinner but Sirius and Remus still don’t have any appetite, and so they sit up in the dorms. Remus wants a joint, but knows he shouldn’t smoke or else the trip might come back full force. Sirius and him lie in bed next to each other and think.

“Want some chocolate?”

“Yeah.” Remus crawls over Sirius’s body to open the drawer of his nightstand. “Christ,  _ oof _ , you could have just asked me to get it!” Remus is sprawled across Sirius’s body.

“What kind do you want?”

“What?”

“I’ve got dark with nuts, and caramel, some berries, and some milk with peanut butter, also with caramel, and with pretzels-”

“Jesus, Moony, I don’t care.”

“It’s very important to  _ me,  _ you see.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“Fine, we’ll do dark with hazelnuts, suit yourself.” Remus grabs the bar of chocolate and rolls back onto his side of their narrow bed. Sirius breathes in relief. “Not as heavy as you,” Remus quips as he breaks off a square of chocolate for Sirius, who doesn’t reply. They eat their chocolate and continue to lie in silence. “Sorry, was that rude?”

“No, it’s true.” Sirius breaks off another square. “It’s whatever. Don’t worry about it, and anyways. Today was brilliant. It was really nice. Really good. I felt a lot.”

“A good lot?”

“Yeah. I came to terms with some things.” Sirius doesn’t seem to want to share. “I feel better for it.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Remus himself has some things that he’d come to terms with during the trip, most of which he had come to while lying on Marlene’s bed again after they’d gone outside. A lot of these thoughts had been about being a werewolf. 

It’s not bad. Remus is not bad, and he’s not his illness. Not every werewolf is a bad werewolf. It’s okay to hunt and to run wild under the full moon. It’s not okay to kill or bite. And precautions have to be taken for those things not to happen- like Remus being shackled in the cellar at home or locked in the Shrieking Shack, but now he has Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail and so it’s  _ okay. _

Remus feels as though he has begun to accept himself at long last. It’s freeing. It’s very powerful. The dormitory has gone dark, and Remus sits up to draw the curtains over the bed. 

“James and Lily know, right?” He asks Sirius as they tuck themselves under the blankets. 

“Yeah, they do.”

“You didn’t tell them?” 

“Nope.” If Sirius is lying, he doesn’t give it away. “We’re pretty… open about it, around them, anyways. I’m sure Peter knows too.”

“Yeah.” Remus still does not feel perfectly comfortable in coming out to any of them. The only one he’s properly come out to is Marlene, and she had done the same for him, which had made him feel better. But Remus does not feel as though James, Lily, or anyone else is entitled to him making a big show of confessing his sexuality to them.

Remus pulls off his trousers and drops them on the floor to crawl back into bed in his boxers, Sirius does the same, but he leaves his shirt on tonight and turns away from Remus as he pulls the covers over them and relaxes in the warmth of the bed. 

“Goodnight, Pads.”

“Night, Moony, love.” Remus closes his eyes. His breathing slows, and he drifts. It takes a long while for him to fall asleep; there are still fractal patterns swirling behind his eyes and assorted thoughts that he can’t put to rest. Next to him, like usual, Sirius is tossing and turning. They both try to get to sleep, though. It’s quiet.

Then, out of nowhere: “I’m sorry I got fat.” Remus wonders if he’s heard Sirius properly. Neither of them can fall asleep, but they’ve been pretending all the same, lying in the darkness with eyes half closed. Remus has one arm loosely wrapped around Sirius, warm. Close.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I got fat. It wasn’t on purpose. It’s really ridiculous, I know. I’m really embarrassed about it. I’ve been trying to lose it, now.” 

Remus isn’t quite sure how to respond. He’s noticed Sirius’s efforts, at least, how he eats normal portions at meals, sleeps through breakfast again, practices Quidditch again despite him being banned from team play, prefers fags over joints even though Remus knows he loves getting high.

“Don’t apologize! I don’t mind. I didn’t mind, and I still don’t. I love you however.”

“It’s just embarrassing. It’s a lot of fucking weight.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“I think it was some weird reaction to what happened, last summer, because I had no food at all and then I was, like, scared of not having any, and then it was major overcompensation. But like, way way  _ way  _ too much overcompensation.” Sirius pauses. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m still tripping. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay. Say whatever you like. And maybe you overcompensated, but who cares?  _ I  _ don’t care. It shows you take care of yourself, not like me, all skinny. You’re lovely.” 

“You’re lovely too.”

“Mmm, I’m gonna fall asleep now.” Remus readjusts in the blankets, sliding further down, kissing Sirius’s cheek sloppily, tired. “I’m so glad we did this. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too.” 


	95. [YR 6] Cool

_mary has a heart of coal, she’ll break you down and eat you whole, i saw her do it after school, she’s an animal_

**r**

“Expecto Patronum!” Something white and silvery but not yet corporeal pours out of Mary’s wand and she curses loudly, gesturing with her wand and another bust of light shoots out of it- this one destructive and a bolt of anger that hits a desk and explodes. Mary stares in surprise at the black scorch mark left on the desktop.

“Christ.” Remus comments. “Might need to calm down. Shall we have a tea break?” They haven’t been practicing their Patronuses for long except long enough to realize that neither of them are getting anywhere although Mary is more frustrated than Remus and this is clear through the way her magic is becoming wild and now she makes a wordless sound of frustration, something like a contained scream.

“A _tea_ _break_ is not going to get me to produce this blasted fucking Patronus!” Mary shouts. “Jesus _Christ_!” Her golden earrings clink as she moves, and her matching nose ring catches the light. Mary is humming with magic that Remus picks up on easily. She’s so very powerful, but it’s hard for her to direct it. 

“It doesn’t help to be frustrated, so maybe you should-”

“If you tell me to calm down, you have another thing coming.” 

“I’m only saying, Mary.” Mary scowls at him. It’s a rather unbecoming look for her. She takes a deep breath and then looks back at the scorch mark on the desk. She mumbles a cleaning spell halfheartedly, abashedly, and the mark on the desk disappears. 

“Yeah, let’s get some tea. Sorry, Remus.”

“It’s alright.” They return to the classroom with pockets full of biscuits and mugs of tea. Remus sits on top of a desk and Mary does the same. She sips her tea and stacks the biscuits on the desktop. 

“Lily can do it, you know. I’ve seen hers. And she’s a Muggleborn too. It’s just hard for me to… to just imagine it into reality. It’s the same with Riddikulus. Turning laughter into magic, happiness into magic.” Mary gestures with her hands while she speaks, and tea slops down her mug. “It’s the same thing, about. But it’s hard.”

“Yeah.” Remus breaks a biscuit in his hands and eats it in pieces. “It’s hard for me too. And I’m not Muggleborn. I don’t think it’s anything to do with it.”

“I’ve just never understood magic like this. Transfiguration, Charms, even Defense stuff. It’s hard for me.” 

“James says you’ve got to think of the happiest thing and just let it fill you completely. So happy that you can’t think of anything else, like you’re so caught up in it. What’s your memory?” Mary looks a bit embarrassed and stares into her teacup.

“My first time.” She pauses. “I mean, I just really love Danny, you know? He makes me so happy. So many memories with him are good ones.” 

“I tried that too,” Remus confesses, “A memory like that. But James, his is super strong and his memory is just about winning the Quidditch Cup. I think if it’s about someone else, then it might not be as powerful. Because it’s not about you. It’s about having someone to make you happy, and I think a big point of it is just being able to rely on yourself for it.”

“Hm.” Mary props her jaw on her fist and looks at Remus thoughtfully. “What do you think of now?”

“Dancing.” 

“Sorry?”

“Dancing,” Remus tells her, “Swing dancing.” He smiles bashfully. “You know, I taught Marlene once. And I taught James and Lily and Sirius on James’s birthday. Oh, Mary, it’s so much fun. Do you want to learn?” 

“Oh, fuck it. Why not?” Mary stands up and smiles at Remus as he steps towards her, holding out both hands. She joins hers with his and then looks down at their feet. Remus is wearing his tattered brown boots, covered in dirt smeared duct tape, his only pair of shoes. Mary’s are shiny black platform disco shoes. 

She wears them with her Gryffindor robes instead of the mary janes that are actually part of the uniform in the same way that Remus doesn’t wear the dress shoes. He’d gotten a pair when he was eleven, for first year, and had outgrown them by third even though they’d been pinching his feet all through second. His parents had bought him the pair of boots in third year, and they’ve been his only shoes ever since. 

“Alright, I’ll count out a beat. We take three steps, and then one back, alright? One two three, _back,_ ” Remus takes a step back and Mary does too, then steps forward again, “One two three, _back,_ there we go, one two three, _back_.” They continue these movements with joined hands, and Remus speeds up, grinning reflexively as Mary picks up on the steps. They do more jumping instead of stepping as they speed up, and Remus holds Mary’s arm above her head; she twirls. 

They dance more, dancing to nothing at all, and he spins her out while she holds onto his hand, laughing, and he twirls her back in so she’s against his chest, and then out again. She lets go, does a stumbling pirouette, and falls back into his hands and once again they’re jumping back and forth, giggling like girls. 

“Try it!” Remus tells her as she twirls him awkwardly since he’s so tall, and then he steps back. “Try the Patronus.” Mary is still smiling, breathless, when she casts the spell and Remus watches in awe as a silver jaguar bursts out of her wand, roaring in his face and leaping around the room. Mary squeals with joy. 

“I got it, _yes,_ Remus, amazing! Haha!” She laughs with pure joy, the way James did when he first cast his, and she watches the jaguar as it fades out into nothing. “Thank you so much!” 

“Yeah, of course.” Mary pulls him into a brief hug and releases him still beaming. 

“Expecto Patronum!” And the jaguar reappears. Mary stares around with the biggest grin on her face. “Fucking _ace,_ Remus. Now you go.” 

Remus remembers dancing. The footsteps, bouncing back and forth, unable to stop laughing, twirling around, and he specifically remembers his living room, Luke barking at his feet and his mother laughing at him as he tripped over the dog and fell-

“Expecto Patronum!” A wisp of light. “Fuck.”

“Shall we dance again?” 

“I dunno.”

“Come on, it’s like you said, don’t get frustrated.” But Remus _is_ frustrated. He’s never been able to produce a proper Patronus. “What memory are you using?”

“Dancing…”

“With me?”

“With my mum. She taught me.” Mary’s face falls. Remus understands her unspoken words. It’s been a whole year without her, but the pain is still there because he always takes it with him and can’t let go of the loneliness because he feels like it would be letting go of her. 

Mary holds her hands out and raises her eyebrows. Remus takes them. They have another go. Swing dancing is so fast that it _has_ to be funny, and the two of them are smiling and laughing before too long, and Mary twirls him again while standing on her tiptoes and Remus takes a step back, his wand out, heart full of that happy dancy feeling and he shouts “Expecto Patronum!”

Remus stands back in shock as a silver wolf pours out of his wand. Mary starts clapping, watching with awed interest as the wolf fades out. Remus swallows hard. The full moon had been earlier in the week, and he had run with the wolves again.

Remus knows that the dark magic in the forest is because of the werewolves. However, this is not something he is keen on sharing with James or Sirius. 

“That was brilliant, Remus!” Mary shakes his shoulders with excitement. “You got it!”

“Yeah…” Remus takes a step away from her, shoving his wand back into his pocket. “Yeah, damn, that was good.”

“And a wolf, how badass!” Remus looks at Mary warily before he remembers with quite a jolt that she doesn’t know. Of all his close friends, the only two who don’t know of his lycanthrophy are Mary and Dorcas. He forgets, sometimes, around them. With people like Caradoc or Benjy, Remus has it established that they don’t know.

But he’s been friends with Mary for six years and this is a secret he’s still managed to keep from her. Mary takes him up to the girl’s dormitory and announces to Moira and Lily that they’ve finally produced their Patronuses and are congratulated accordingly, and Mary pours her and Remus shots from a bottle of Firewhisky she keeps stored under her bed.

When Remus goes to bed that night, he dreams of hunting.

He wakes up to more bad news. 

“Werewolves, now.” Mary is saying as she reads the Prophet at the breakfast table. “Voldemort’s recruiting them.”

“To do what?” Peter asks.

“I dunno, to kill us, I guess. What else? Jesus… they blew up a bridge in Northamptonshire, blew up a whole square in Belfast, as if Ireland doesn’t already have the IRA to deal with…”

“What, the _werewolves_ did this?” Remus asks drily. Mary stares up at him. 

“Is this funny to you, Remus?” She shoves the newspaper at him. “Here, have a laugh. When it’s my block in London, I’m sure you’ll have a fucking joke about it.” After saying something like this, Remus himself would have probably escaped from the situation, but Mary is staring at him intensely. There’s a challenge in her eyes.

“It’s not funny.”

“No, and just because you’re safe from this all doesn’t mean you can have a laugh about it-”

“I’m not safe from it either,” Remus snaps. “My father is a Ministry official who openly supports Muggle rights, and I’m a half br-blood, and I’m not safe either. My dad is a higher target than your family.”

“Stop fighting, it’s not a competition.” Lily looks upset with them. “Mary, we’re all afraid and we all have a right to be. The Death Eaters are using fear tactics, and the werewolves,” She glances momentarily at Remus, “Are just another group they’re using to scare us. Like the dementors, or Inferi.”

Mary snaps back, “I dunno, Lily, I think I’d kill myself if a werewolf bit me.” Remus looks at Mary interestedly. “They can do more damage than a giant, in the long run. And do you know what, Remus? You don’t have to put up with the prejudice. You aren’t shouted at in the halls, you haven’t lived in fucking _fear_ for years, you aren’t called slurs that the wizards have made up just for you, even though you’re a witch through and through, and if this is a competition, then I’m winning.” 

Mary stands up, muttering to herself under her breath, and she gives Remus a very direct and angry look.

“I will see you in class. Good fucking riddance.” Lily lets out a low breath and watches as Mary walks out of the Great Hall. 

“She got you good, Remus.” Peter tells him unnecessarily. 

“Remus, Mary’s going to win any argument you try to get in with her.” Lily must be speaking from experience. “Just leave her alone on this, okay? It’s sensitive.” Lily herself looks a bit upset.

“Sorry, Lily. Are you alright?” 

“As alright as I can be. I’m just waiting until it’s my family. Let’s just hope Cokeworth is off the Death Eaters’ map, yeah?” Her laugh is oddly bitter and when the sound dies, Lily’s pale face falls and she bites her lip, looking down at the cup of coffee in front of her. They all sit in silence for a moment. 

Remus meditates on the bravery of his friends during class. Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Julie. All these Muggleborns who hold their heads up as things get harder, and it’s not as though Remus hasn’t _noticed_ what’s been going on, in fact, he’s broken up countless fights in the halls and witnessed firsthand the violence directed at Muggleborns. Mary has every right to be angry about it. Remus hadn’t meant to make it about him. He owes her an apology.

After morning Charms, Remus goes into the courtyard for a smoke. They have Charms with the Slytherins and so Mary had spent all of class next to Danny, hard at work. She spills into the courtyard amongst some Slytherins and breaks away from them to walk over towards Remus, who shakes a fag out of his pack and lights it in her lips. 

She leans next to him against the wall and smokes more artfully than he does. 

“Sorry about earlier,” Remus tells her. “Didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“You’re alright. I was a bit tetchy.”

“You’re valid, though.” Mary and Remus watch as some Slytherins hang about on the other side of the courtyard. Mulciber, Snape, Selwyn, Snyde. They keep looking over at Mary and she glares back at them while she smokes. The group moves, coming closer to them, and Mary sighs heavily as Mulciber takes a step closer.

“Mudbloods and half breeds over here, huh? Having a little self pity fest, I suppose? Did they get your family, MacDonald? I’ve been hoping they will.”

“Fuck off, Mulciber.” Remus rasps. Mary drops her half smoked cigarette onto the ground and stands up.

“Say one more word to me and I swear I’ll have a little chat with the house elves tonight and you’ll wake up strung up by your neck with your own laundry,” Mary spits.

“Is that a threat?”

“What are you, scared?” She takes a step towards him and Remus sees her wand held against her leg, steady in her hand. “Because I’ll give you a reason to be.”

“Protego!”

“Stupefy!” The curses spark and bounce off of one another, and Mary holds her wand straight at Mulciber. There is no tremor in her hand. “Do _not_ fuck with me, mate, because you’ll regret it.”

“Petrificus-”

“Stupefy!” Mary’s curse comes faster and is more powerful, and Mulciber goes flying backwards behind the slash of red light. “Fucking tosser! Don’t even _try_ me, Snape, you’ll get double what he gets.” Snape has his wand pointed at Mary, but he begins to lower it. Carnelian Selwyn is trying to revive Mulciber, who seems to be out cold. “If I were a Muggle, I wouldn’t have been able to do that, now would I?” 

None of them reply, and it’s Remus who follows behind Mary, cigarette still poking out of his mouth as she storms inside. 

“Remus, if you’ve got anything to say about that, I don’t want to hear it-”

“Good on you, Mary, he fucking deserved it.” Mary turns and pauses while Remus hastily finishes the cigarette for fear of the portraits screaming at him about it. “If we stun ‘em all, maybe we’ll win the war.”

“I’m just getting started,” She tells him, grinning, and Remus has a feeling she’s right.

**reg**

Regulus’s voice is tired as he asks, “So he wants to take Hogwarts?” Mulciber and Snape pause, looking at each other. Snape speaks first:

“Of course he wants to take Hogwarts.” They’re sitting in the Slytherin common room and discussing the facts that had come with the recent meeting that Mulciber and Snape had with Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix. Regulus had been roped in because he’d been accessible: sitting in the common room and translating a sheet of Ancient Runes that had of course been less important than what the Dark Lord’s new plans are.

“And how is he planning on doing that?” Regulus hadn’t meant his voice to sound so haughty, but he’s tired, and his O.W.L.s are a little more tangible than the Dark Lord, these days.

“Are you doubting him?” Mulciber snaps.

“Of course not, I’m only wondering. Dumbledore is a very strong wizard…”

“Dumbledore is a spineless bastard who’s brainwashing generations of wizards,” Mulciber continues. “I mean, look at what became of your brother! Heir of your family, and he comes here and becomes a blood traitor, becomes a Mudblood-lover, thanks to Dumbledore!” A moment’s pause, and Mulciber adds: “No offense.”

“None taken.” Regulus thinks over the concept of the Dark Lord infiltrating Hogwarts. To be honest, he doesn’t fancy it very much. “So what’s the point of the werewolves in the forest?”

“What, you haven’t picked up on it? They’re trying to get Lupin on their side. He’s got inside information, and they don’t want Dumbledore getting to him first.”

“I think he might’ve already.” Snape mumbles darkly. 

Mulciber ignores him and continues, “If they convince Lupin to work on their side, they’ll have much more information.”

“Lupin might be too far gone.” Snape’s voice is very low and he looks miserable at the thought of Lupin working on their side. 

“We don’t know that. You were the one who found out about him in the first place.”

“I should never have told you.”

“We’re not going to tell anyone,” Regulus interrupts. “Except Lucius, and Rodolphus, or whatever…” 

“We should tell everyone! There’s a filthy half breed in this _school,_ he’s in my bloody _classes._ It’s disgusting!”

“You can’t go to Dumbledore, Erwin, I’ve told you a million times, I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” Snape hisses. “Just leave it.” The two of them glare at each other. Regulus wonders if he has to ask to be excused from the table for permission to leave. 

As April wears on, Regulus comes to realize that they might not need Lupin’s help after all. Someone has been passing information to the Dark Lord, and magical families start falling just as often as Muggle ones; targeted for their views on Muggle rights. 

There’s radio broadcasts that Regulus knows aren’t put on by the Ministry. It’s how students at Hogwarts find out if their families have been the ones killed, this time, and he hears a broadcast one night after coming in late from O.W.L studying in the library.

He pushes open the door to the common room to hear a crackling of static on the radio. Regulus hovers in the doorway, leaning against the wall in a motion of clandestine effort to remain unnoticed. There’s three students, all sixth years, gathered around a small Muggle radio.

Regulus recognizes Katherine Inkwood, a Prefect, and then Danny Hunter who flies chaser for Slytherin. He’s nice enough, but gets on better with other members of the team. The last girl is blonde and is covering her face, but Regulus knows it’s Olivia Campbell, a mudblood. 

Olivia has her face in her hands, and Katherine has her arm linked with hers. Next to them, Danny isn’t covering his face, but he’s got his chin in his hands and looks worried.

“...Names on the families, at last…” Olivia leans in and turns up the radio so Regulus can hear it better. “Chapman, Sanders, McConnell, Fenwick, Healy…”

“Oh, no.” Danny mumbles. Regulus recognizes the name, anyone would. Benjy Fenwick is one of the most popular people at Hogwarts. He’s a year older than Regulus and is well known for his incredible Quidditch talent as well as his iconic mohawk. The broadcast continues, and none of them recognize any other names. 

Regulus can hear Olivia sigh in relief, and Katherine hugs her. Danny takes her hand and the two of them look at each other for a moment, wordless support. It hadn’t been their families, not this time. But it had been Benjy’s. 

Regulus slinks up back to the dorm feeling shaken and ill. He doesn’t want to think about the night that Benjy is having. The next morning at breakfast, his bright blue mohawk is missing from the Ravenclaw table. Talk in the Great Hall is quiet but consolidated. There’s specifics on what had happened: Benjy’s father and older brother had been killed. 

“At least he’s still got his mum,” Theodora says. It’s a very small comfort. 

“But he’s a pureblood, Benjy is. Why are they attacking purebloods?”

“His dad worked in the Muggle Liaison Committee, and he was a _real_ Muggle lover.” Barty turns to drop in on their conversation. “Anyone who promotes that kind of filth has a right to be dead.”

“And his brother?”

“Fighting for the same cause, isn’t he?” Regulus doesn’t ask any more questions. He writes a letter to Narcissa that afternoon, in between classes, Quidditch, and studying. Fifth year is becoming overwhelming. Regulus would have written Bellatrix except he’s somewhat terrified of her, always has been, and thinks of Narcissa more like a friend than an insane cousin. 

_Dear Narcissa,_

_How have you been? I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but school has been mental with O.W.Ls coming up, and Slytherin is still in the running for the Quidditch Cup so I’ve got practices on top of that. I’ve been seeing this girl Theodora Rowle and nearly died in Madame Puddifoot’s on Valentine’s Day after being dragged there and smacked over the head by the blasted cherubs, and I’m sure it’s only gotten worse since your days here._

_In other news, I had a bit of a question for you. Recently, some members of the Fenwick family were killed._

Regulus realizes that he doesn’t even know the names of Benjy’s dad and brother. Not that he _should,_ but it feels a little awful to refer to them so coldly. 

_I know their son, Benjy, he’s a sixth year Ravenclaw. They’re Pureblooded, not in the Sacred Twenty-Eight but still, and I just don’t understand why Pureblood families are being targeted. I know that his father supported Muggle rights, but are personal opinions that harmful/deserving of such violence?_

_Please don’t hand this to Lucius and let him describe it all to me, I’d rather hear it from someone a little less radical. (No offense to Lucius). Give him and the peacocks my best._

_Love,_

_Regulus_

Regulus runs up to the owlery to post the letter with Xenith. He receives a response the next morning. 

_Dearest Regulus,_

_Fifth year is the hardest one of them all, but you’re almost done! You’ve just got to push through. Good luck with Quidditch! Which other teams are doing well? And I’m happy you’ve got a girlfriend! I’m sure your mum will be very pleased. Was Theodora at my wedding party? I feel like I sort of have a face for the name._

_Now, onto your question. You know that Muggles are beneath us. In the past, they had persecuted witches and wizards and tried to kill them. Their technology is dangerous, and the less there are of them, the better. Purebloods who support their ideas are doing the exact opposite of what they should. More Muggles in our world will taint the bloodlines and muddle with our magic._

_I’m not saying that Benjy’s family deserved to die. If these blood traitors could be convinced that we_ _don’t_ _need Muggles in this world, then violence would not be necessary, but so far, talking to them has not worked. As I’m sure you know, violence is a necessary measure at times._

_Regulus, I’m glad you wrote to me about it but I’d advise to keep your doubts private, especially in these times. Any apprehension about the Dark Lord’s views will not be thought of as true dedication. Be careful with your words._

_Write again soon,_

_Narcissa_


	96. [YR 6] To Be Anything At All

_ when we meet on a cloud, i’ll be laughing out loud  _

_ i’ll be laughing with everyone i see  _

**r**

Sixth year draws to a close that Remus experiences powerlessly. 

Every day happens and he wakes up to a new morning each time, as though it could ever be a surprise, and Remus isn’t  _ surprised  _ by it because the days pass, but he’s digging his heels in and wishing things would stay still. They are sliding faster and faster towards war- a war that Remus has agreed to fight in. 

A war that Remus has  _ asked  _ to fight in. 

He’s not the only one. Mary had gotten into something like trouble for the fight with Mulciber, but instead of detentions she had been asked after by Dumbledore just the same as Remus, and now it seems that she’s affiliated with his Order now, too. Remus doesn’t discuss these things with James or Sirius, nor with Lily who most certainly won’t be wanting to go to war. They have one year left at Hogwarts and it isn’t enough.

They have one year left at Hogwarts and then they will be at war. Eighteen years old and a soldier already; Remus doesn’t like to think about it. 

And he hates more than anything to recognize that they are  _ maturing,  _ especially when Sirius starts waking up at the same time as James to go run. The first time it happens, Remus is both surprised and upset, as he’s been rather enjoying the late wakeups associated with Sirius Black in his bed. 

But Remus wakes up slowly, hearing James bang about the bedroom, and he wraps his arms around Sirius’s warm, soft body. Sirius is usually fast asleep at this time, half seven in the morning, but today he stirs.

“Where’re you going?” Remus slurs tiredly as Sirius sits up, yawns, and stretches widely.

“Dorcas and Marlene are taking me running.”

“No, they aren’t.” Remus is still lying in bed, head half buried under the pillow, and he makes a dramatic noise as Sirius slides out from under the covers. “Noo, you’re so warm. Why are you running at seven in the morning?”

“Because I’m fat,” Sirius tells him, and then kisses him on the tip of the nose, “And I need to put an end to that. They run every morning, laps around the castle.”

“Fucking mental.”

“Go back to sleep, Moony.” Try as he might, Remus has already been woken up. After Sirius and James leave, Remus lies in bed for a while, staring idly at dust particles filtering around the dormitory. Sirius has left the curtains around the bed cracked, and Remus looks at this room that has served as a proper, wonderful home to him. 

The posters on the walls: motorcycles and pictures of rock bands torn from magazines by Sirius’s bed, Quidditch posters around James’s, photos of friends and family by Peter’s, and psychedelic concert posters for Remus. There’s papers, books, clothes, and other assorted belongings strewn all over Remus and Sirius’s half of the room. James’s record player is placed on its holy pedestal in his corner, and his Quidditch robes are hung proudly on the edge of his dresser. 

Peter has followed James and Sirius down to breakfast, so Remus has the dormitory to himself. Yet the quiet solitude brings loneliness. Remus flicks the locket between his fingers and feeds on the blood magic that emanates from it. If Remus had been cold, touching the locket would make him warm. If he’s a bit lonely and feeling bittersweet and sentimental about the end of another year, the locket will lessen those bad feelings, somehow. It’s nothing but magic.

After a slow start, Remus finally makes his way down to breakfast. He finds Peter, Mary, and Lily sitting together and both Peter and Lily fix him with sympathetic looks almost as soon as he enters the Great Hall; both of their heads turn to affix him with worried expressions while Mary remains buried behind the newspaper. Remus does not pick up his pace for fear of the news that he’ll be shared once he arrives, and he sits down rather calmly as Mary starts on a tirade rather than a hello.

“They’ve been attacking people all over the country. On the last full moon, there were  _ fifteen  _ attacks total.”

“Werewolves again?” Remus starts spreading jam on his toast while Mary stares up at him.

“You’re very airy about this whole werewolf business, aren’t you? How would it feel if you got bitten?” Remus already feels hot all over, knowing he shouldn’t have even started with Mary, and he looks down at his food without responding. Lily clears her throat. “People are  _ dying  _ because Voldemort’s setting the werewolves on them, and if you don’t think that’s awful, then I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“Any more names today?” Remus asks to change the topic to something even darker. Mary sighs.

“No one we know.” And maybe this is a reference to how Benjy Fenwick had left school for the rest of the year. Upon scanning the Ravenclaw table, there are no longer bright blue spokes of a mohawk marking probably the most fearlessly confident pupil at Hogwarts in any year. Remus had talked to Caradoc about it, but briefly, because he’s preparing for N.E.W.Ts and filling up his Auror application which he’s blatantly lying on, by the way, because he’s not done much to strengthen his resume other than selling drugs. 

And yet Caradoc had been subdued, which is unlike himself. It makes sense, since most of his boyfriend’s family had been killed off for supporting Muggle rights and now his boyfriend has gone home to grieve and Caradoc is worried that they’re still targets. 

“And my family too,” Caradoc had confessed, “We’re Purebloods and we support…” He looked around the courtyard to see if anyone was listening in, “Of course we support them, but now it’s like, at what cost?” He couldn’t even say the word ‘Muggle’. 

After classes today, Remus meets up with Julie Blackstone to practice Charms with her. They work at it for hours: the Summoning Charm, Bubble-Head Charm, Silencing Charm, Reviving Spell, Banishing Charm, and more. Julie is incredibly talented and Remus teaches her some higher level Charms like the Blasting Curse and Confundus. Both of them are drained and exhausted after hours of work, and Julie sits down with a heavy sigh.

“Are we doing O.W.L review sessions next week?” Remus asks.

“Yeah, what days are you free?”

“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If people want to study on Friday, that is.”

“They will. I will.” Julie puts her head in her hands.

“Burnt out, are you?”

“You’ve no idea.”

“Reckon I might.” Remus raises his eyebrows importantly while Julie scoffs. Her ginger hair is tangled down her shoulders, and her eyes are tired. “I know how it feels- everyone’s like ‘take a break!’, but there’s no such thing as a break during O.W.L season.” 

Her voice is plain exhausted as she says, “Right, the thing is, it just doesn’t  _ matter _ .”

“What?” Julie stares up at him and Remus sees this sheer exhaustion on her face. 

“I’m not coming back to Hogwarts next year.” Remus stares at her. “It’s just- I’ve already lost my dad, and my mum- she knows about what’s happening and she’s scared.  _ I’m  _ scared.”

“Julie, you’re  _ so _ smart.”

“Yes, thanks, Remus, but people like me are getting fucking slaughtered every day like it’s  _ nothing,  _ and I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“You’re not any safer in the Muggle world!”

“I’m safer with my family.” Julie’s eyes are blazing. “I’d rather die with my family than hear about it on the radio the next morning. I’ll take my O.W.Ls just in case I ever come back, but who knows? It’s only getting worse.”

“Julie, it- it’s not forever.” Remus feels desperate, almost. It’s like if Lily had told him that she wasn't coming back. A waste of talent, a waste of so much. “You’re incredibly smart, you’re  _ ace  _ at teaching- you could be a teacher!”

“I just want to stay alive, for god’s sakes, don’t you understand that?” Julie scowls at him. “You’re going to fight, aren’t you?” Remus wonders where she came up with this. “I know Dorcas is. And Caradoc is about to go start  _ now,  _ essentially, and Kingsley and Emmeline and everybody. Please don’t, Remus. People are dying.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“You could be a teacher, too.”

“There’ll be time for that when this is over.” Julie looks at him from behind her glasses with this sad, disappointed expression. She’s a year younger than him and yet Remus is the one who feels naive for choosing to go fight. 

“It’s going to be over at a huge cost.” Remus hates that Julie is right. They part after this conversation and Remus feels as though something in their friendship has been not severed but weakened, maybe. They’ll run tutoring sessions for O.W.Ls and Remus will practice Charms with her, and then they’ll go their separate ways for summer holidays and Remus won’t ever see her again. 

He and Julie part ways. She tells him goodbye and he says the same. Remus shoves his hands in his pockets as he wanders down towards the Great Hall, thinking he’d like to have a joint on top of the Astronomy tower if Sirius is around. Remus peers into the Great Hall as a group of young Slytherins brush by him, and he stands against the wall as they pass. Dinner is almost over, but Sirius is there, sitting with Marlene, James, and Hyatt.

Sirius is turned away from him but Remus looks at him all the while and thinks  _ that’s my boyfriend,  _ thinks  _ that’s my Sirius.  _ Marlene is the first to see him standing in the entryway shadows and waves at him with a bright smile. Remus gives her a weak smile in return and slopes over towards the table. 

“Hi, Remus, what’s up?” Marlene asks. 

“Hiya. How’s Quidditch?”

“Excellent.” James and Hyatt respond in unison and grin at each other. “We’ve got a real shot at the cup this year.”

“Against who?”

“Slytherin, to be honest.” Hyatt tells him. “Ravenclaw’s without a captain now that Fenwick’s gone, and they’re scrambling to keep it together without him. Never thought I’d say it, but it’s a shame. He’s really really good.”

“Scouts are coming to the final,” James interrupts, “I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if they picked up Fenwick.” 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they picked up any of us.” Marlene doesn’t sound egocentric, really, she’s just confident and telling the truth. Gryffindor has some incredibly talented players. “What have you been up to, Remus?”

“Charms work, helping Julie with her O.W.Ls. Same old.”

“You should be paid.” Sirius raises his eyebrows importantly. “Doing everyone in this school a public service!”

“It’s public for a reason, you know. Anyways, I came down to see if anyone wanted a smoke before bed.” Hyatt and James shake their heads no, and Marlene glances quickly between Sirius and Remus before smiling slyly and telling them she’ll pass. 

“I’ll take you up,” Sirius responds predictably. “Have you had any dinner?” 

“Not yet, I’ll eat later.” Sirius gives him a look, one that tells him he’s got to eat and Remus gives him a look back, raising his eyebrows and saying that he will, once he’s high. It’s not long later that they’re out of breath on top of the Astronomy tower, Remus lighting up a joint and puffing at it while Sirius situates himself right next to him. Sirius leans into Remus and Remus wraps an arm around him. Sirius rests his head on Remus’s shoulder. 

They pass the joint back and forth for a while.

“How’s running?”

“Shite. I’m out of shape.” Remus squeezes the love handle above Sirius’s hip and earns an elbow to his own stomach. “Stop it, ‘s not funny.”

“I think you’re adorable.”

“I’m not to be thought of as adorable. I’m Sirius,” He breaks off to cough, “Sirius Black! I can’t be fat.”

“Mmm, whatever.” Sirius hands the joint back to Remus. Remus is already feeling spacey. “Do you ever think about running away?” The warm air of late May breezes against them, and Sirius’s long hair blows back behind him. He thinks about the question.

“Haven’t I already ran?” His voice is hoarse from smoke.

“No, not like that.  _ Away  _ away. Out of here. The U.K. To escape the war.” 

“I can’t just go. I have people here.”

“I do too, they’re my people too. But… I mean, you could even join the Death Eaters. You could. You could go back and you would save yourself.” Sirius takes the joint back. He doesn’t seem offended by this line of conversation, just contemplative. 

“I wouldn’t care if my life was saved if I was hurting the people I loved. I’m not a traitor. I’d never betray you. I think I’d rather die than do that. I’d rather die than be a coward, to give up this fight. You, and Mary, and Dorcas and Lily and everyone, you all deserve the same things that I do. You deserve everything.”

Quietly, Remus says “I love you.” His throat is oddly choked. “And your convictions, and your… spirit.”

“Fuck, Moony, you’re  _ high _ .”

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, you punk, don’t ruin it.” Sirius tilts his head up and kisses Remus. His breath is warm and smokey. It’s not a long kiss, and there’s no sexual undertones. Sirius moves closer to Remus as the kiss breaks. He puts his head back on Remus’s shoulder, and Remus leans his head to rest on his. Sirius winds his arm around Remus’s waist to hold him tighter. 

“We  _ could  _ run away,” Remus begins again. “We could go to California. Like you said, we could go anywhere.” The rest is unspoken; they can run to a faraway land where they never have to hurt, a land where they aren’t at war with a world that’s never loved them. 

“Yeah, Moons, but we aren’t going to. We’ve got to fight here.’’ Here it is again, the surprising maturity of Sirius, who finally seems to have realized the gravity of this war. It had been because of the Fenwicks, Remus is sure. “I think that people we love are going to die. And I think we’ve got to fight no matter what, because I don’t want to live in a world where Voldemort wins. I don’t want to live in that world.”

“Are you afraid to die?” 

“Too high, Moony.” Sirius’s reprimand is gentle, but he continues. “I’m not really scared. Death is just the next great adventure, right? I’d like to die without knowing it’s coming, though. I don’t want to die afraid.”

“There’s a quote, from a book I think you’d like.” Sirius laughs softly. 

“Nerd.”

“Shut up. It’s from Moby Dick. ‘Whatever my fate, I’ll go to it laughing.’” Sirius doesn’t reply. “You’ll always have me, you know. We’ll always have each other.”

Sirius hesitates. “Promise?” Remus laughs.

“Pinky promise.” He holds his hand out to Sirius, and they twine their pinky fingers together. 

**l**

Lily Evans is not hungover.

Like, trust her on this.

So Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup- that’s cause for celebration, right? And James Potter could have spent the whole night basking in his well-deserved glory, especially after the scout from the Falmouth Falcons shared some words with him after the match, but instead he found a place by her side for the duration of the night.

And so, both of them had their fair share to drink. Everyone had. Lily had woken up this morning with her stomach in knots and a headache banging away behind both eyes. The whole group had been down in the Great Hall for breakfast, but no one had eaten anything. 

Lily Evans is currently trying not to be sick on the Hogwarts Express and might be doing an alright job so far, since the contents of her stomach still remain where they should be. She’s sitting in a carriage that’s far too overcrowded and talking to absolutely no one. Caradoc Dearborn is doing a question and answer service with everyone sad to see him go, and Lily doesn’t even know how she got here. She had been following Remus, she thinks. And Remus had been looking for Caradoc.

“I’m getting my own place as soon as I can,” Caradoc is explaining to Remus, “Over the summer, I’ll get a flat.”

“Where?”

“London.”

“With what money?”

“Humor me, Remus. I’ve been Hogwarts’s number one drug dealer since your third year. That money’s got to go towards  _ something _ .” Remus laughs. To Lily, Remus has always seemed to essentially worship Caradoc, and wonders if he’s going to take over the drug-selling business once the self proclaimed Weed King of Hogwarts makes his departure.

“Is Benjy going to stay with you?”

Caradoc shrugs. “If he wants, over the summer. I’m sure he’ll be back at Hogwarts next year. He’ll be okay.”

“Have you talked to him since?”

“Yeah, we write. I’m going to visit him next week. Funerals are over and all, but his mum is taking it hard, I just hope they don’t mind me being there…” Lily tunes out of their conversation and into the one that Kingsley and Emmeline are having, and Mary and Danny are snogging each other right in her line of vision so she closes her eyes and tries to dispel the hot nausea in her stomach. 

Closing her eyes makes it worse, and when she opens them, the train rocks and she feels on the verge of sicking up all over her friends.

“Remus,” She begins, seeing him quiet and look towards her, “Do you want to go get our patrols over with?” 

“Oh, sure! Yeah, sure.” He stands up in a less shaky fashion than she does. “See you later, Caradoc.”

“Alright, peace out, mate. Bye Lily!” 

“Bye Caradoc!” Lily doesn’t know him very well, but he never calls her ‘Evans’ and he’s always perfectly kind, and she thinks that something about his presence will be missed. Lily holds onto the wall as she stumbles into the hallway with her stomach in her throat, thinking that if she  _ is  _ hungover, experiencing this on the train is the worst possible outcome from a Quidditch celebration party.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks as she catches her breath in the hallway of the train. “You look a bit peaky.”

“The party last night… you know.”

“Aha, I know.” Remus looks decently self satisfied with knowing that she’d drunk enough to remain in this painful state nearly all day long. “That’s why  _ I _ smoke.”

“You drink too, you know.”

“Not nearly as much as you all.” Lily could say it’s true, because she’s never seen Remus truly pissed when she has seen him rather catatonic after smoking legendary amounts of weed. He’s pulled a small tin out of his bag and offers it to her. “Want a mint? They help with nausea.” Lily accepts one as Remus snaps the tin shut. “I’ve spent a good number of hours getting motion sick on this train.”

He’s talking about the full moon effects and Lily knows that June’s moon had been a few days ago, although it’s not clear from Remus’s appearance today. He looks as well put together as he can be: rumpled robes and a dusty badge, hair untidy but at least clean. Somehow, the moons seem to have gotten better for him rather than worse. And from all the literature that Lily’s read about werewolves in means of better understanding, that isn’t supposed to happen.

Lily isn’t complaining. Anything that makes her friends feel better is fine by her. 

“Do you really want to patrol or was that just an excuse to get you out?”

“Oh, no, we’d better patrol.” Patrols with Remus have become a small pleasure of Lily’s, because he’s capable of intelligent conversation and also has a wicked sense of humor. They set off down the train, peering into carriages but otherwise not too bothered about end of the year shenanigans on the express.

“So I guess I’ll see you in July, then?” Remus asks. Their group had made rather vague plans about meeting up over the holidays, and Lily and Remus seemed to be the only ones capable enough to organize their ideas into something more concrete.

“Yeah, that’ll be fun. Sirius is staying with James?”

“Earlier, yeah. He’ll probably come to mine later on. I’ve got to get back to work, though. Couldn’t hold a job last summer.”

“Any plans for where?”

“Dunno, any shop that’ll take me. Maybe a restaurant.”

“I worked at a petrol station last summer.” Lily makes a face to show just how she felt about it, and Remus looks sympathetic. “Might have to do it again. Worth the money, though.”

“Aye.” They pass by a carriage of third year Hufflepuffs setting off Zonko’s firecrackers; Remus continues down the hall as though noticing nothing out of the ordinary and Lily is left with little choice but to follow along, as she’s not in the mood to tell off younger students just having fun.

“Erm, so… you know James?”

“Do I?” Lily blushes.

“I mean, do you know if he’s… if he’s still interested in me?” Remus grins at Lily knowingly and her face burns; she flicks her hair into her eyes and Remus bumps his shoulder with hers. When she looks up at him with a face burning with a blush, he raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“Shove off!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I-  _ god,  _ we just get on now, don’t we? I don’t know what changed! He’s just nicer!”

“He’s definitely still interested in you.” 

“It’s only because I need a date to this dinner with my sister!” Lily bursts out. “She wants me to meet her fiancee but I’d be  _ sick  _ if I have to go by myself, and she said I could bring along a date, but I haven’t got anyone, and I’d ask you because you’d behave yourself, Sirius isn’t even an option, but I kind of  _ like  _ James.” Remus listens attentively. “You cannot tell him this.”

“Nah, I won’t, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll find out for himself shortly.” He smiles again. It’s his evil diabolical smile, the one that is triumphant and rather victorious. There’s another period of awkward silence, and after it, Remus starts laughing. Lily buries her face in her hands. “Lily, mate, you should hear yourself! All fuzzy brained over a guy, and the guy is  _ James!” _

“Shut up!” Lily shrieks, grinning embarrassedly, and Remus laughs to himself even more. “You don’t get to mention this to  _ anyone _ .”

“Would never, haha-” Remus laughs and jumps away from Lily as she smacks his shoulder, “Would never! You guys never fail to keep me entertained.” He’s still grinning like an awful sort of devil and at least, Lily thinks, she has received some sort of confirmation and can also provide in keeping her friends entertained for as long as they please. 


	97. [HOLS '77] I Need You I Need You I Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh em gee it's finals season and i'm.... slowly being crushed by schoolwork. my maniacally fast posting is (hopefully!!!) going to take a big slowdown for the next 2 weeks because i've got to get my lazy ass in gear and start writing essays instead of fanfic 😔
> 
> anyways, enjoy some long awaited jily :)

_ you say you never wanna be saved, well that’s okay ‘cause i wouldn’t know how _

_ just know that the best i’ll ever be is whatever you make me and wherever you are _

**l**

Lily Evans writes a letter to James Potter and it is the stuff of ultimate shame; she invites him on a  _ date,  _ capital D, the word written in ink and persevered forever in a letter that she has no idea what he’ll do with, and then he accepts but doesn’t make fun of her for asking him out and she hates thinking about it at all.

Her parents think it’s properly funny, which makes it even worse. 

It’s not as though Lily talks about James  _ often,  _ it’s just that she’s complained about him a few times around over holidays because he does always make an effort to write to her and she usually goes on Potter-hating tirades that her dad laughs off and her mum tells her will make sense one day. 

And today seems to be that day.

James is set to arrive at five, although knowing him, he’ll probably be ridiculously early or pitifully late, and Petunia and Vernon will hate him and Lily even more than they already do. Lily takes a bike ride in the morning for something to do. 

She passes by ramshackle houses with laundry hanging outside, white sheets wavering limply in the dry breeze. A stray dog lies in a patch of sunshine, a small child sits behind a chain fence in the front garden and cries, chickens shriek and squawk, the rumbling of the mills permeates through the air.

Lily bikes out of Cokeworth and into the country, standing up on the pedals as she pumps them. The sun is hot on the back of her neck and she’s sweating, but this exercise is distracting and she relishes that ease of having nothing on her mind. Telephone lines string long swaying cords of black through the greyish blue sky, and patchy brown fields roll on forever into nothing. 

There’s hardly any cars passing down this road and so Lily bikes in the middle of it, the tyres of her bike rolling grittily over the broken white lines that race down the road as far as she can see. The clouds thicken into things that are heavy and grey, threatening rain, and so Lily turns home. She’s drenched by the time she stores the bike in the garden shed, and her wet shoes squelch as she runs into the house, hair dripping down her back and clothes stuck to her.

Inside is generally quiet. Her mum is playing the radio for background noise as she lies on the couch, reading a book. Lily assumes her dad is sleeping, as he does so often these days. He hadn’t gotten any better during her sixth year, but he hasn’t gotten any worse. Not obviously, really. She lies in bed at night and hears him coughing so hard that she can hear it through the walls. It sounds like he’s tearing his lungs to shreds and it haunts her.

So he’s ill and he might be dying, but no one in the family seems keen on acknowledging it, and so Richard Evans deteriorates with a smile on his face while his family tries their best to hold it together. 

Lily takes a shower and flicks on the radio while getting ready for the night. Her hair is long but so boring as she’s been wearing it parted in the middle for her entire life. She started feathering it halfway through fourth year but has since gotten sort of bored of  _ that,  _ too. She considers asking Dorcas to cut it when she visits in a few weeks. 

The rest of the day is spent in a burst of completely unproductive nervousness. Lily paces around her room, reorganizes, writes a rather ranting letter to Marlene about how awful the date is going to be, and then screams into her pillow. At four fifty, Lily sits out in the front garden and wonders what ridiculous method James is going to use to turn up.

She doesn’t expect to see him walking down the street, that’s for sure. Once she establishes that the figure walking down the street  _ is  _ James, she leaps to her feet and strides down the street to meet him.

“Captain Potter!”

“Prefect Evans!” James waves at her from down the street and beams as he strolls closer. He’s wearing muggle clothes, as instructed, but looks particularly garish. His collared shirt has a flowery orange print and a bright green collar. He wears ordinary brown trousers but has a lemon yellow belt and at least, well, at least his  _ shoes  _ are normal. His hair is as big of a disaster as ever, but he’s fixed his glasses frames again and his smile makes her feel positively insane.

“You look mental, James.”

“You look lovely yourself!” James has approached enough that they are within standing distance, and Lily feels a disgusting warmth in her stomach. He’d grown taller last summer and Lily had spent the whole year trying to ignore his rather undeniable fitness. Except they’re going on a Date and he’s about to meet her  _ parents,  _ and he won’t stop looking straight into her eyes. 

Lily mentally goes over what she had told herself before, that no matter what, this situation will remain  _ easy.  _ Things cannot get awkward. Lily has been putting James into his place for years, and can do the same damn thing tonight.

“How did you get here?”

“Apparated a few blocks away, didn’t want to turn up on the doorstep in case anyone was there.” Lily pauses.

“You missed the address, didn’t you?” James shrugs but his grin gives him away.

“I still Apparated cross country, didn’t I? Good enough for me.” He’s started walking again and Lily falls into step beside him. “How are we getting to the restaurant?”

“Driving.”

“You know how?”

“Uh,  _ yeah _ .”

“Grand! This is going to be so fun. Okay, so, what am I supposed to introduce myself as? Your friend? Your  _ boyfriend _ ?”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

“We’re going on a date!”

“Ugh, James, I don’t know! Figure it out!” James laughs out loud at how clearly flustered Lily is by this conversation, and she knows that he’s enjoying himself. They’ve reached her house, and she gestures at it carelessly. “This one’s mine. Please don’t make a fool of yourself, alright? We’re not staying long.” She pushes open the low gate to their house, and James chews his gum loudly as he hops up the front steps.

“It’s very charming, Evans.”

“I’m Lily to you, tonight.” She opens the door and feels her face heat up as her mum squeals in apparent delight; it would not have been too far-fetched for Violet Evans to have been watching the two of them out the window as they came down the street, for she had clearly been over prepared for their arrival. 

“ _ James,  _ it’s so good to finally meet you! Oh, Lily didn’t tell me how handsome you were!”

“Muum…” 

“Haha, thank you, Mrs. Evans, you look wonderful yourself!”

“Oh, stop it!” Mrs. Evans bats at his arm and Lily realizes that her own mother is more flirty than she is when it comes to James. “Alright, Lily, I won’t be in your hair for too long. All I need is a photo!” Lily groans out loud while James beams and stands up straighter. Mrs. Evans reaches a tentative hand out to touch his unruly hair, but James shakes his head empathically.

“Not even magic can fix it, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying for years.”

“Oh, well. Stand together, then, there we go! Very nice!” They’re standing in the warmly lit entranceway, and James wraps his arm around Lily’s shoulders and grins. She’s never been this close to him in her life, and his body heat as well as the smell of his cologne makes her blush in a most likely dramatic fashion. Lily smiles shyly at the camera as the flash goes off. “So cute! Alright, now a funny one!”

“ _ Mum _ !” But James is pulling a silly face and so Lily sticks her tongue out obligingly at the camera as the flash blinds her once more.

“Ohh, you two are so cute! Enjoy yourselves, okay? And Lily, behave with Petunia. Don’t offend her,  _ try  _ to get along. And be careful with the car! Though I know you will be.” She smiles warmly at Lily as she drops the car keys into her hand. “Take care! I’ll see you later!”

“Night, mum!”

“Bye, Mrs. Evans!” Lily drags James out the door before her mum can find any way to embarrass her further. 

“Aw, Lily, your mum is so nice! I can see where you get your charm.” James bumps his hip with hers and she flushes, even though he’s being sarcastic. “Which car is yours?”

“There, that Mini.” The car is dark blue with silver trim. It’s tiny but runs well. 

“Cute!”

“You think?”

“Honestly, I know nothing about cars.”

“Just wait until Vernon opens his fat mouth,” Lily mumbles as she unlocks the car and lets them in. “You’ll undergo a whole lesson.” James has to fold up his long legs to fit properly in the passenger seat, and he makes a big production of how short Lily is, as she usually has to wear heels to drive the car because it makes it easier for her to reach the gas. 

“Do they know I’m a wizard?” James asks. Lily tells him yes, and understands that it had been her biggest mistake of the night. 

The date goes terribly. 

Lily drives well enough that they arrive on time, even though finding parking is a chore, and James won’t stop telling her jokes which make it harder to concentrate. When she finally wedges the Mini into a parallel spot on the street and James claps and whistles for the feat of nature she’d achieved, they’ve a few minutes until the reservation, and have to run to make it to the restaurant on time (Lily in her heels, which never goes over well).

“Blimey,” James pants as he holds the door of the restaurant for Lily, “We can’t even be a minute late?”

“Not how Petunia works.” James ends up having to hold the door for five more people and says ‘you’re  _ quite  _ welcome’ in his graciously sarcastic voice before he files in behind them, rolling his eyes at Lily who had been watching the production with a wry smile on her face. Petunia literally tells them that they’re two minutes late as they finally sit down at the table, and Lily considers the implications of slapping her older sister across her face for being fucking  _ rude. _

James introduces himself, shakes Vernon’s hand quite intensely because James shakes his hand out afterwards and shoots Lily a look of fear that makes her laugh under her breath. They order food, and a whole bottle of wine, which Lily helps herself to only after Petunia and Vernon fill their glasses. 

“So, Vernon, what do you do for work?” James asks.

“Oh, I’m an associate manager at my father’s drill company.”

“Drills?”

“Drills.” Vernon agrees. “For construction, you know. We design, create, ship. Have to make them specific for the jobs that need them. It’s quite important.” He puffs up his chest and Petunia pats his arm lovingly. 

“Cool,” James tells him, looking perplexed. He manages to hold his own quite well in discussion, especially since it all centers around Vernon and Petunia, they hardly ask any questions about James and Lily’s lives, and Lily finds herself increasingly frustrated. Why had she even agreed to this? Her and Petunia are never going to get on well, no matter what. 

Their food arriving is a momentary distraction from the rather one sided conversation, but it hardly lasts. Vernon starts bragging about his car and James, who had been surprisingly patient so far, seems to crack around the edges.

“I’ve got one of the best racing broomsticks there is,” He explains rather brashly while Lily kicks his leg under the table. “The Nimbus 1000. It’s revolutionary.” Vernon’s face is turning red.

“A  _ broomstick _ ?”

“Don’t entertain him, Vernon-” Petunia is cut off by James.

“Yes, a broomstick. I’m captain of my house's Quidditch team, and we won the whole tournament last year. What sports do you like, Vernon?” James looks him up and down. “...Rugby?” Lily is surprised he even knows the name of the sport. “You’ve got the build for it.” Lily can’t contain the snicker that bursts out of her throat, and both Petunia and Vernon look shocked at having her betraying them like this. 

“No, I don’t play  _ rugby,  _ I have a  _ job  _ where I make more money than I’m sure you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Are you sure?” James asks jauntily. “My family fortune says otherwise. My dad’s big in the cosmetic industry, something you seem a bit unfamiliar with, he created a hair potion. My grandkids will still be making money off of it.”

“So you’ll be leeching off of him for the rest of your life, I presume?” Vernon spits. James sits back in his chair with that infuriating easy grin on his face. While him and Vernon continue to argue, Petunia glares at Lily in a way that has never grown unfamiliar. Her thin face twists sallowly as she scowls at her younger sister, and Lily tilts her chin up as her face heats. This had been a terrible idea. It would have been better to bring Remus along, even with the scars all over his face and the holes worn through his clothes.

But Lily hadn’t wanted to present a friend like Remus to her sister. Lily somehow wanted to prove that she has someone in her life that isn’t Marlene or Remus, someone who’s only a best mate and is also in a relationship. It’s like bringing a desperate, darling James Potter along had been someone to shove in front of Petunia and scream defiantly:  _ Here, someone loves me after all! He’s terrible and silly and rude, but he’s mine, isnt that enough? _

James says something that Lily misses and then Petunia stands up and rattles the table, attracting the attention of people around them.

“I’ve had  _ enough _ !” She shrieks, always in a show of dramatics, and Lily feels an intense heat of embarrassment settle over her as Vernon stands, too, glaring down at them; James is so unapologetic and Petunia’s expression is even darker as she addresses them:

“You are my  _ sister,  _ and for your whole life you have made  _ everything  _ about you!”

“Petunia, we’re in public-”

“And you’ve brought your-your curry munching  _ freak  _ of a boyfriend to come have a laugh at the life I’ve built for myself, a life that I’m  _ happy  _ with, and I can’t- I just can’t believe you! You have always had your way in ruining things that make me happy!”

“Lay off her.” James’s voice is more serious than it’s been all night, and Petunia spits a great length of insults at him before storming out of the restaurant with Vernon right behind her. It seems that they leave a ringing silence behind them. James looks absolutely puzzled. “Well, that went well.” Lily puts her hands over her eyes and begins to cry.

“Oh  _ Merlin,  _ Lily, please don’t cry, I’m sorry!”

“That was so humiliating!” 

“I only- I just- they were  _ looking  _ for a fight.” Lily scrapes back her chair and watches as James panics even more intently, if possible, his eyes are so wild and he reaches for her as she takes a step back from the table.

“You gave them a bloody fight, didn’t you? I need some air.” She keeps her voice low, calm.

“Lily, just-”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“I don’t have any-  _ Lily! _ ” James hisses. He mouths  _ muggle money  _ quite clearly, and Lily feels like screaming at the top of her lungs. She throws her purse at him and storms out of the restaurant. The night outside is summerwarm and Lily thinks that if Remus were here, he would have offered her a cigarette by now. 

They’re somewhere in Birmingham, a city that Lily’s unfamiliar with despite the generally close distance to home, and she paces around in front of the restaurant for quite a while before James reappears looking thoroughly flustered. 

“You- are-  _ unbearable _ !” Lily shouts. There had been a lot of choice words on her mind in the restaurant, but she isn’t as keen at making a self centered drama as her sister. “What the fuck was that?”

“Didn’t they deserve it? And I’m sorry you had to pay, Lily, I didn’t even think about transferring any of my money, it was stupid of me, but your sister is  _ rude,  _ no offense, but she is and that man Vernon, he was just… argh!” James is pacing around just the same. “Were you  _ trying  _ to fix your relationship with her?”

“Well, it’s evidently too far gone, thanks to you!”

“You weren’t any nicer to her! It was like an ambush!”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” 

“ _ You’re  _ the dramatic ones!” James huffs loudly and walks further down the street. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. All of a sudden, Lily feels incredibly stupid. She’d invited James Potter, of all people, on a date with her older sister and her fascist fiancee as though expecting that the three of them would get along. It  _ was  _ an ambush, although shitshow might be a better word for it, because it would have never worked out anyways. 

“Sorry.” Both of them say it in unison and James turns back around, smiling gently but genuinely, an apology clear on his face in an expression that Lily’s seen him wear a million times. And then, impulsively and against all of her better judgements, Lily hugs James. The close contact they’ve had throughout the night: pictures in the entryway, driving down in the car, kicking him under the table- all of it leads to this: a simple hug. He smells nice and he touches her hair awkwardly. 

She’s a bit too short for it to be an excellent hug and oddly enough it’s Sirius who gives the best hugs: he’s short enough that her head isn’t pressed awkwardly to his chest, and he’s softer in general. James is not soft or fat or anything of the sort, he’s got proper muscles and Lily wonders for the millionth time why he, Quidditch captain and one of the most popular boys in school, had fallen for her: chubby, swotty, rule-following Lily Evans.

Lily takes a step back and James doesn’t know what to do with himself. He trails his hand down her arm and eventually links his fingers through hers, a gesture which Lily is not opposed to.

“I’m sorry for making you cry.” Lily’s face heats up at the sheer memory.

“I’m sorry  _ for  _ crying, it just happens when I get frustrated. You should see me after an Ancient Runes class, I’ve got to have Marlene mop up my desk with tissues.” James smiles. “And that’s just typical me after talking to Petunia. She’s infuriating.”

“I can’t believe she’s related to you. Your mum is so nice!”

“Ugh, I feel so bad for my mum. She’s so kind to the both of us, but we just can’t get along when we’re together. We’re awful, honestly. Everytime we try to make up, it goes just like… well, you see what it’s like. She calls me a freak, I call her a boring fucking fiasco, so on and so forth.”

“And what’s that she called me? A curry muncher?”

“God, I am  _ so _ sorry.”

“Lovely to know she’s a racist, too.”

“Probably Vernon rubbing off on her. I’m so sorry.” James shrugs. He doesn’t look truly upset about it, not like he’d been earlier when they were shouting at each other. She’s never seen him genuinely angry before and had honestly considered it an emotion that James simply didn’t feel; he’s always so nonchalant and laid back. There’s something comforting about knowing that he’s not a perfect person either. But she loves his patience. Lily doesn’t like people with hot tempers.

James asks if he can make it up to her and Lily shrugs bashfully. 

“I’ll buy you an ice cream or something, yeah?”

“You haven’t got any money.”

“I’ll just cast a glamour.” Lily doesn’t protest since she’s already paid for dinner for all four of them. 

“If you muck up the Statute of Secrecy, you’ll be put on probation already.”

“Worth it for some ice cream, though, isn’t it?” The ice cream they find isn’t as exciting as Florean Fortescue’s, but it makes their night feel less like an incredible catastrophe and more like a proper date. They walk around the streets, window shopping in closed shops, holding hands like maybe James  _ is  _ her boyfriend, and then they drive home and Lily goes way too far above the speed limit because James keeps egging her on and they drive windows down, radio up, laughing and sometimes screaming when Lily takes a turn too fast.

“I wish I could drive you all the way home.” She says when they sit safely parked in front of her house. “I love driving.”

“You should teach me sometime.”

“Suicide mission, I’m sure of it. Maybe another time.” Lily sighs and runs her hands across the steering wheel. James is watching her quite closely, and it reminds her uncomfortably of how Severus used to stare at her. She’d never been able to hold his eye contact without ending up feeling strange and awkward. But when she looks back at James, he smiles and leans in closer, and then they kiss.

Lily starts giggling when James tries to deepen the kiss and pulls back, her face flushed, and they are only lit up by a streetlamp farther down the block. James looks confused as to why she’s laughing and his hair is such a  _ mess  _ but god, it’s endearing. 

“This is not how I thought my night was going to end up!”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“But we’re not going to snog in my car.”

“Only if we can do it somewhere else.” 

“Not tonight,” Lily tells him as she gets out of the car. She looks at James over the top of the car once he shuts the door, and he waves at her, still grinning. They’re on the way back to her house when James asks, “You’re ashamed, aren’t you? That you ended up with me after all?”

“Shut up!”

“You are!”

“Shut up, Potter, I had been planning this all along!” James laughs loudly and skips away from Lily as she reaches out for him. “Hey, you’ve still got my purse!”

“Come and get it, then!” James sets off down the street.

“James- I’m still wearing my  _ heels _ !” He jogs backwards, waving her purse above his head, grinning. “Tosser!” Lily tears her heels off and gives chase down the dark street, the street where she’s grown up, learned to ride her bike, walked home alone after sitting for hours and talking with Severus, and now she chases James Potter down it with no shoes on as they laugh into the night. 


	98. [HOLS '77] Let the Love Remain

_ we’ll stay drunk, we’ll stay tan, let the love remain _

_ and i swear that i’ll always paint you golden days _

**r**

Lily invites them all to come camp in her garden because no one else seems capable of making plans except for Remus, who can’t very well invite eight people to his garden because it fits about three on a good day. Remus is permitted to go since he’s been able to do quite exactly whatever he wants ever since he was twelve years old.

Sirius Apparates from Devon on the first of July to spend the full moon with Remus, and after a day of recovery, they depart for the Midlands in hopes of having some fun. They arrive at Lily’s house and Sirius is the one who knocks on the door. They wait around for a bit, wondering if they got the wrong house, and when the door opens it’s not Lily or her older sister or even her mum, it’s a tired looking man who Remus assumes is her dad.

Lily’s dad sighs as though he’s tired of this already. “More of Lily’s friends?” Sirius and Remus nod. “They’re out in the back garden… organizing.” He leans heavily against the doorframe and Remus realizes that he’s ill, like, properly ill. Like how his mum was ill. “What are your names, then?”

“I’m Sirius.”

“I’m Remus.” Lily’s dad shakes his head.

“Strangest names. Nice to meet you boys.” Then he shuts the door. Sirius whistles as they walk down the front steps and around to the front garden.

“Nice guy.” Remus doesn’t reply and instead glances into the garden to find the rest of their friends plus a huge amount of camping gear spread out over the yard. “Hello, ladies!” Everyone turns, including Peter and James, to see Sirius and Remus letting themselves in through the back gate. The party has started. 

The next week or so is something out of a dream that Remus would have invented as a young boy, when all he wanted were friends and to have fun. Spend a childhood locked away in a cellar once a month while your mum cries because she’s scared of you, and then watch your family move all over the U.K. and fall apart while knowing it’s your fault. Make no solid friends until you turn eleven and suddenly they’re the saviors of your world. 

Said saviors plus Dorcas Meadowes go see this film called Star Wars in cinema. James and Sirius literally clutch onto one another in shock, fear, and absolute astonishment. Sirius had only seen T.V. programs on Remus’s tiny black and white excuse for a telly, and seeing it on the big screen obviously takes a toll on him. Bright lights soar across the screen while robots and creatures from faraway worlds battle each other. 

Remus believes it to be an incredibly striking social commentary that relates almost eerily to the war taking place in their world today. James agrees with him, likening Darth Vader to Voldemort, and then says, rather egotistically,: “And, like, I’m Luke Skywalker, you can be Obi Wan, and Sirius is Leia!” Remus chastises him and says that they’re not kids, and that Dumbledore is Obi Wan, Alastor Moody is Skywalker, and James’s dad can be Leia.

That cracks James up even more.

They go see the film about three times in the following week, mostly because Dorcas starts giggling whenever she sees Carrie Fisher, and Remus would be lying if he didn’t think Harrison Ford had a good look going for him. 

Every night, they retreat to a thicket of woods where they have set up an illegal camp because Lily’s family doesn’t want them camping right in the back garden. The eight of them divide themselves into four tents that Lily and Dorcas had brought. They pitch the tents in a clearing in the woods where everything is green like the exact dead of summer, and it gets cold at night but the sun’s out in the daytime.

Remus, Mary, and Lily set up a ring of stones in the middle of their tent-circle to serve as a fire pit. They light up a fire every night and have an easy go of it once Dorcas raids a dumpster in town and brings an assortment of cardboard boxes back with her.

“It’s called a chimney,” She explains as she stands over the fire and rights the cardboard box on top. “See? The fire crawls up it!” The flames lick up the box, higher and higher, and Dorcas crouches by the side and sticks a few pieces of wood in a triangle shape so the fire will continue to rise upwards. When Dorcas steps back, Marlene casts a spell on the campfire that shoots it a few yards into the air.

“Who needs  _ chimneys  _ when you’ve got magic?”

In the daytime, they do assorted Muggle things that make Sirius and James particularly ecstatic. 

They discover the magically Muggle drink known as Cola and regress to ten year old boys when they understand how the carbonation works; shaking the cans until they’re fizzing at the lid and then chucking them at trees as hard as they can to watch them explode in a burst of fizz and aluminium. 

Lily takes them to the public pool under word that they’ll behave themselves, and James disobeys straight off the bat by wearing a frighteningly small pair of swim trunks that do indeed show off his toned body. Remus feels like the mum of the group as he’s been laden down with towels and bags. He wears a straw hat that belongs to Lily’s mum, sunglasses, and no shoes. His only pair of boots does not fit a swimming pool scene.

Everyone else goes swimming while Remus sets up all their towels and then settles himself quite comfortably under a sun umbrella with a book. He does not last long before being interrupted.

Sirius wanders over looking bored, handsome, and haughty, as he always does. His swim trunks are less obscene than James’s but there’s still plenty for Remus to appreciate slyly from under his sunglasses. Sirius has lost weight, though Remus is sure that he would still go shirtless even if he had still been at his heaviest, and he runs up to Remus and shakes his hair at the same time, sprinkling Remus with pool water. 

“Oh, come on!”

“Don’t be insecure, Moony, come swim!” Sirius crouches down by Remus’s side and tries to snatch the book out of his hands.

“Don’t, Sirius.” Remus snatches it back. “I don’t want to.”

“I know that’s a lie, Moons, you love swimming. No one gives a toss about your scars.” Remus, in fact, does give a toss about his scars. The ones from self harm are the ones he hates most, thick cut slices on his shoulders and legs. And then there’s the bite on his shoulder, of course: a whole chunk of skin missing and rough white scar tissue where it should be. 

But Sirius is still eyeing him, Sirius with a rippled slash of claw marks across his side, a side that is still considerably soft and curves out at the hip which would make  _ Remus  _ insecure, anyways, and so he says  _ what the hell?  _ And some kids stare at him literally open-mouthed but Remus has spent his whole life developing a thick skin and so ignores them the best he can. 

None of his friends stare, not even the girls who’ve never really seen him shirtless before, and that’s fine. Dorcas is doing admirable water gymnastics and Peter is well on his way to developing skin cancer because he’s so burnt from the sun, but at least Remus has joined them because there’s a certain alienation that comes from sitting on the outskirts of life because you’ve been too afraid to join in.

Remus smells like chlorine and his skin feels tight with a tan by the end of the day. Mary had picked up a package of ice lollies and Remus sucks on one now, turning his teeth and tongue red while Marlene’s turns purple, they glance at each other and stick their tongues out. Sirius, James, and Peter have gone motorbike-ogling (a popular activity these days) while Lily, Mary, and Dorcas are taking their allotted warm-water showers in the Evans’ house. 

So Marlene and Remus are sitting at the campsite, shoeless in the grass and dirt while bees buzz around them and trees sway in a soft breeze. There’s a silence in between Remus and Marlene, that Remus fills by sucking obscenely loudly on his ice lolly. 

Marlene swats his arm as she tells him, “My god, Remus, don’t be pornographic!” He gives it a loud slurp while Marlene bites the end off of hers and chews up the mushy purple ice; Remus considers this a clear metaphor for their sexualities. “I wish we could have gone to my house.”

“How do you mean?”

“Now, like, for the summer. Lily’s is nice, but wouldn’t it have been so cool to stay in Edinburgh? We could’ve hung out in the city! I could’ve fit you all in my house, somehow.”

“Eight of us?”

“We’re magic, Remus.” Remus’s lips make a popping sound as he reaches the top of the lolly, and even he laughs apologetically at the look that Marlene directs his way. “And anyways, mum and dad are in with Dumbledore now, so it’s all very chaotic. Is your dad working with him?”

“Nope. Lyall Lupin is a pacifist before anything. Haven’t told him that I’m fighting yet.”

“You should get on that.”

“Should do.” Remus pauses in the space where he finishes the cherry ice. “You’ve told yours?”

“More like  _ they _ told  _ me _ . Whole family’s fighting. Even Ollie’s come home because he can’t bear to watch what’s happening here and not take action. I’m proud of them.” Remus wonders what it must be like to have a big family to take pride in. “I still want you to meet them. I wanted to, summer after second year.”

“I can’t believe we ever dated. We were awful.”

“ _ You  _ were awful, I did everything right.” Remus nods vaguely. “I’d still like you to meet them. They’d love you.” Remus ponders the concept of someone he loves taking him home to meet their family, but is not given long before James, Sirius, and Peter reappear, all of them gushing about motorbikes with a passion that Remus cannot understand.

And in the evenings, golden and sticky with summer heat, Remus will roll up a joint and turn on the radio. A band called the Sex Pistols have made their debut and Sirius is rightfully obsessed with their song ‘God Save the Queen’. They don’t only listen to punk, they listen to ABBA, and Rod Stewart, and Elvis Presley. 

The evenings are lazy and calm, permeated by music and heavy smoke. The woods seem to buzz with life. This summer is gold and green, rolling out before and behind them, and at some times it seems like everything moves so fast and by the time Remus has to go back home, it seems like he’s spent years living in the woods instead of a mere week. 

He wishes it could have been longer. The rest of the summer looks bleak to him. Working a job, preparing his outline for the seventh year thesis paper, spending long days bored but hopefully happy. It is time to grow up, now. His last summer as a real teenager and he’ll spend it pretending to be an adult. 

**j**

Sirius buys a motorbike and names it ( _ her)  _ Ziggy Stardust; she smells like motor oil and petrol, and when Sirius takes James for a ride the first time, it’s so much fun that James honestly considers buying his own. 

Sirius does not know the rules of the road, something that Remus and Euphemia had pointed out, but Remus is back in Wales and what Euphemia doesn’t know the full extent of will not hurt her. Euphemia wants them out of the house anyways, because it is headquarters after all, and there are always strange people about and sometimes the not so strange; James had run into Edgar Bones and Gideon Prewett in the kitchen after coming in from practicing flying, and both of them had pretended as though it were perfectly ordinary for them to be there.

“They’re training to be Aurors, remember?” Sirius reminded him.

“But how are they already involved? Doesn’t Auror training take years?” This is yet another question that goes mysteriously unanswered by anyone. James knows with a distinct certainty that if asked, his father  _ would  _ crack under pressure and spill all the secrets about what’s going on at their house in regards to Dumbledore’s army except for the fact that it’s not an army and it doesn’t exist, and who even is Albus Dumbledore in the first place?

“You’re being thick, mum!” James shouts this morning. “I know exactly what’s happening, and there’s no way to hide it from me!” This argument has come about courtesy of James wandering into the kitchen to find his old Defense professor, Charlotte Pollock, sitting in the kitchen and eating a crumpet as though James hadn’t seen her since his second year, and they had stared at each other in a moment of awkwardness before James’s dad had kicked him out of the kitchen.

The kitchen is now vacant save for James and his mother, who are undergoing the argument that they have at least once a week regarding whether or not James should be allowed to attend the meetings that take place every other night. His parents cast charms on the living room so no one can see or hear in, and Sirius is usually content to sit out in the garage and tinker with his motorbike while James  _ knows  _ that he’s missing out on a world of being a brave and noble soldier all because of his blasted  _ parents. _

“You listen here, James Fleamont Potter, because this is the last time I’m saying it,” Euphemia snaps at him. Her voice is much harsher than usual in the sense that her voice is hardly ever harsh. “You are my son. You are my  _ only  _ son. I am not going to throw you headfirst into the fray of what your father’s working on, because you are a  _ child. _ ”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Don’t interrupt me! You’re seventeen, and James, that’s far too young to die! And don’t go telling me that you won’t die, because James, this is  _ war!  _ It’s not a joke, or a prank, or anything that you can just dip your feet into! I know that you want to commit, and I know you’ll take it seriously, which means it will be even more dangerous! Can you  _ please  _ just respect my wishes? It’s one more year!” 

She’s getting all teary eyed and James feels plenty guilty about making his mum cry. Yet, James still has issues keeping his big mouth shut. Words seem to force their way out of his mouth before he even has a chance to process what he’s saying.

“Dumbledore literally called Remus into his office to invite him to join their Order.” Euphemia screams. Not a  _ scared  _ scream, it’s honestly a scream that James has elicited many times before: a wordless scream of frustration.

Tears her hands back through her greying hair and shouts: “I don’t care  _ what  _ Dumbledore said to Remus, I don’t care! Remus isn’t my son! Dumbledore didn’t ask you to join, did he? Have you thought about that, James? How he didn’t ask you? You- are- NOT- FIGHTING! And that is  _ that _ !” 

Another silence. Another end for this conversation to be over. 

Another chance that James does not take. “Mum, all of my friends are going to fight. No, stop- listen! Marlene’s parents have  _ asked  _ her to come fight. Remus is going to. Lily is going to. Sirius is going to.”

“Sirius is not getting involved.”

“Sirius is.”

“I have never asked Sirius for anything in return,” Euphemia says in a distinctly loud voice that says she knows Sirius is eavesdropping, “I have welcomed him here with open arms and kindness. I have given him a home. The one thing he could do in repayment would be to not join up with this war.”

James says, “Mum, you’re a hypocrite.”

His face is burning with the smack to the face he’d been administered for the rest of the day, although most of it is shame. When he’d left the kitchen after his mum had slapped him and broken into tears, telling him that he was not seeing clearly, Sirius had indeed been hanging about in the hallway, delicately eavesdropping on the conversation and watching with wide eyes as James slowly walked towards him. 

“She gave you what for, huh?” Sirius jokes, a weak smile straining his face. “Why are you fighting with her? You can still be involved at school, she’d never know. Just pretend, mate. It’s not that hard.”

“I can’t just  _ lie  _ to her.” They speak in low voices as they walk out of the house, not knowing if any other random guests would overhear them talking. Sirius is headed towards the garage, where Ziggy Stardust is stored. 

The garage is dusty and dark. Sirius waves his wand to flick on the lights and James sees Ziggy in the middle of the cleared away space with parts all over the place.

“You  _ can  _ just lie to her, it’s that easy. And it’s not necessarily lying, anyways, it’s lying by omission.”

“That’s still lying!” Their conversation falters as they approach Ziggy. She is a ravishingly gorgeous beast, James must admit. Ziggy’s birth name is Norton Commando, the 1975 model. She’s all sleek shiny black and tight silver lines. Sirius is trying to figure out how to get her to fly. 

Remus is the Charms expert and therefore the only one of the Marauders who has not heard Sirius’s goals for Ziggy’s future, and everyone else agrees that it’ll be better that way, and besides they can figure the levitation Charms out for themselves. For now, they just take it out on the roads where Sirius learns Muggle traffic laws mostly by doing.

He calls it “adapting and surviving” and James tells him not to be so bleak, but it’s true. Those days, in the early August heat where the roads seem to weave on forever and Sirius sometimes takes them on the longest drives to the sea, James feels as though he’s shed the title of ‘only child’. The grown ups are at home talking, so two brothers leave the house and find other ways to entertain themselves. 

If they were kids, it would have been games of Gobstones or Exploding Snap out in the back garden. But they are seventeen, Sirius going on eighteen, and so they turn golden in the afternoon light as they race through empty summertime motorways. Almost as though running away.

**s**

Sirius hasn’t seen Benjy since May and he looks much worse than he had at Hogwarts.

Sirius had assumed himself that Benjy must be  _ decently  _ alright if he’s inviting people over to his flat ( _ Caradoc’s  _ flat, because Benjy still has seventh year ahead of him) and going out on double-dates for dinner. 

But when Benjy opens the door of Caradoc’s flat in London, he doesn’t look alright. He’s thinner and Sirius assumes that loss does this to people, similar to the way Remus had simply stopped eating after his mum had died. Benjy has heavy dark circles under his eyes. His mohawk, usually so well taken care of: shaved close to the skin, gelled, and sprayed into place, has grown out. The bleached, blue bits at the end are all grown out, and the shaved parts are long and untidy.

“Hey, Benjy.”

“Hiya.” Benjy hugs Sirius briefly and steps back to say hi to Remus. There’s something closed off about him. Something different. “Come in, lads, come on in!” They all step into the flat to find it surprisingly organized save for the moving boxes scattered about. The main wall of the living room has a hole in it, and Sirius gestures at it with interest.

“What happened here?” Benjy looks over.

“Oh, that’s our fireplace. Our Floo-hole, I call it. Caradoc wants the Floo in here, and I’m trying to work that into a functional fireplace. It’s not perfect yet. Got some work to do.”

“Very handy, Benjy.”

“You know me.” Benjy smiles and winks, Sirius grins, Remus shuffles his feet and looks uncomfortable. “How’ve you been, then? Who won the Cup?”

Sirius tells him “Gryffindor” behind a sly grin and Benjy rolls his eyes.

“Should’ve been sorted there, Edgar was right. I’m not nearly smart enough for Ravenclaw. I was only put there to lead their team to victory.”

“What’s all this? Giving up on house pride?” Caradoc has reappeared. He looks the same as ever: long brown hair, flushed red cheeks, big dirty boots, just lacking the usual yellow and black and instead wears a green jacket with patches sewn on it, reminiscent of Benjy’s own dark jacket studded with pins and patches. 

“Hey, Remus, Sirius! I like the, er, eyeliner, mate.” Caradoc gestures widely at Sirius. “Cool look.” 

“Ta.” Sirius had been experimenting with various types of eye makeup over the summer, especially since Mary and Dorcas had given him some helpful pointers, and tonight had smeared some dark liner around the edges of his eyes. 

“Shall we head off, then? It’s so good to see you lads!” Caradoc claps them both on the shoulders as Benjy leads the way out of their apartment. 

They go to a pub about a twenty minute walk from their flat, and the four of them fall back into familiar conversations. They order drinks and some food and Sirius thinks that it’s  _ so  _ strange to see his Pureblooded friends out like this in the Muggle world, and he’s going to have to get used to it. It’s also different because they’re out of Hogwarts and Caradoc is never going back, and that keeps Sirius aware that this year is his last.

Benjy used to get funny after a few pints but now just gets quiet. They eat, drink, talk and most of them laugh. Sirius is glad to see London from a new perspective, and they walk the summer warmed streets that Sirius had lived in as a child but never really seen, not like this. There’s shops, bars, clubs- places that Sirius hadn’t been allowed to see as a child, places that Sirius  _ hadn’t  _ seen. It’s mental to him that this whole city, the whole  _ world,  _ even, is now wide open and his for the taking.

They head back to Caradoc’s flat when the sun finally fades out behind the horizon. Caradoc puts on a record as the phone starts ringing, and Benjy grumbles as he gets up from the sofa to go pick it up.

Caradoc splays out over the sofa to fill the space that Benjy had vacated. Him and Remus start talking music: The Clash, The Jam, The Talking Heads, and Benjy is speaking in a foreign language on the telephone. His words are fast and completely unintelligible. Sirius thinks it’s Korean, but he’s not sure. At the end, he says “Salanghae” and Sirius wonders how many ways there are to say “I love you” in the whole world.

Benjy returns looking more sober than before.

“Good chat?” Caradoc asks him casually.

“Yeah, it was just my mum.” Caradoc draws up his feet so Benjy can sit next to him, and he sighs heavily. “Always calling, you know. Checking in like I’m a kid.”

Caradoc glances at him. Sirius has seen Caradoc’s expression mirrored many times on his and Remus’s own faces- this wordless concern. “She just wants to know you’re alright.”

“I’m always alright.”

“Safe, like.”

“I’m always safe.” The two of them look at each other, sharing something wordless. Sirius interrupts.

“You speak Korean, Benjy?” Benjy glances up, his dark eyes expressing the relief of a change in conversation topic.

“Yeah, we speak it at home.” He hesitates and looks aghast. “Spoke.” The correction in tense had been unnecessary, and even Benjy looks abashed. Sirius replies quickly so in fact to not let Benjy’s words permeate, but it’s a relief when Remus suggests they head home. Caradoc had set up a Floo connection in his flat- the ‘floo hole’, and Sirius and Remus use it to whirl back to the Lupins in a blast of dizziness and green fire.

Lyall is as usual camped out in the living room looking stressed, a mound of papers piled up in front of him. He only looks up when Sirius floo’s in behind Remus and pushes his glasses up on his forehead to frown at them.

“Hi, boys.”

“Hi, dad.”

“Hi, Mr. Lupin.”

“How was dinner?”

“Good.”

“Grand.”

Lyall smiles very briefly. 

“Good, I’m glad you had a nice time. It’s nice to see you again, Sirius.” 

“Oh, you too.” 

There’s a brief silence where Sirius wonders why Lyall would say that. It’s not a sort of thing that he says. Even Remus looks uncomfortable, so he breaks the silence.

“Well! Off to bed. Goodnight, dad! Have a good day at work tomorrow!” And they’re excused from the situation just like that. Remus doesn’t mention what had happened and so Sirius lets it die just the same. They brush their teeth and make faces at themselves in the mirror, wander back into the bedroom. They strip off their clothes and then collapse in bed as though it’s old news by now. 

It is old news by now. 

Sirius gives himself a few minutes to think about Benjy before falling asleep, in that strange dark space where Remus isn’t conscious at the same time as he is. Even asleep, Sirius misses him. He can’t bear being apart from his Moony.

And then Benjy. He’d been  _ someone _ : Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Hogwarts’s resident punk, champion dueler, Caradoc Dearborn’s boyfriend. Benjy fucking Fenwick. He’s different, now. Lost his whole family so now he’s gone pale and cold and doesn’t make proper jokes anymore because he’s sad and it’s… it’s sad. He’s not the same and it’s sad.

They’re not even in seventh year yet and things are changing. Things are getting worse. 

But in the warm darkness of Remus’s childhood bedroom in Mold, Wales, Sirius can’t even touch the bad. He’s alright tonight. He’s safe and Remus is safe and that’s what matters. 


	99. [HOLS '77] Stay Happy Where You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo! finals are almost over thank god so i'm back to writing.  
> real quick i'd just like to establish that this fic has been sad and will most definitely continue to be, but now it's not even a choice. if that makes sense? in canon, orion black died around when regulus did, so he's gonna have to croak at some point 💀. not my choice tbh but if i'm following canon then that's what's up. same for james's parents & lily's parents and so forth... most everyone just dies. not a spoiler just the truth.

_all those secrets that people tell to little children are warnings that they give them_

_like, “look, i’m unhappy. please, don’t make the same mistake as me.”_

**reg**

After the innumerable stresses of fifth year, Regulus Black had been generally excited to enjoy a peaceful summer. And yet Regulus always feels as though he only gets half of what he wants, and since being a Death Eater is so far more like an annoying extra curricular rather than a matter of what Sirius called genocide and what Bellatrix calls necessary cleansing, Regulus is only somewhat surprised when he’s dragged on countless missions, to meetings, and today taken to Diagon Alley to get a mask fitted.

“I had plans!” Regulus complains as he trudges behind Bellatrix. “We could have done this another day!”

“Yes, well.” Bellatrix is moving rather quickly, as though she too has other things on her mind. “I couldn’t care less about what you and your little girlfriend are getting up to, Regulus, but I would say that this is _far_ more important than a date.”

“You would say that.”

“Excuse me?” But Bellatrix is only half listening to him, and lets the sharp remark go. Mask fitting, in Regulus’s eyes, is something that does not take precedence over his personal plans, especially ones involving or related to Theodora. 

She’d been vacationing all about Europe with her family for the majority of the summer, which had left Regulus with Evan and Anthony for company. Not that they’re bad friends, anyways, it’s just Barty is his best mate and has of course been locked up all summer long because his father saw his Dark Mark and then tried to cut it out of his arm, according to Barty. When that hadn’t worked and Barty had been left with thick scars on his wrist, his father had made the next-most responsible decision of locking Barty in his room for the rest of the holiday.

Regulus assumes that the father-son relationship has not improved much, despite the directions of Malfoy and Rodolphus. He feels bad for Barty, of course, and counts himself lucky for having parents who support him. In a way, Barty reminds him of Sirius in a reversed position. Walburga would never hurt Regulus, but he could imagine her taking a knife to Sirius’s wrist to cut out a tattoo, to cut out something she deems bad and evil and wrong.

“Here,” Bellatrix says, finally coming to a stop. Knockturn Alley is chilly even in the summertime, since the buildings are so narrow and crowded together. They block out the sunlight, and Regulus shivers slightly. “Go up, tell them you’re Regulus Black, and they’ll know what to do. I’ll be down in Borgin and Burkes. I need to pick something up.” And Bellatrix leaves in a whirl of dark clothing and throttling perfume.

Regulus, quieter and calmer, steps inside the building she’d pointed at. It’s dark, derelict. Fits perfectly in with Knockturn Alley. There is a small hall inside, and a staircase leading up to the second level. The aforementioned _them_ that Bellatrix had casually glazed over do not appear to be anywhere in Regulus’s line of vision, and so he climbs up the rickety staircase that creaks under his feet.

Glamours shift and change, warping dizzily around Regulus as he climbs the stairs, and the top level of the crumbling building shifts into a dark, glossy store. It looks like a store, at least. There’s countertops and wide shelving cabinets along the back walls. Two men stand at the counter, one of them behind it and the other in front. The one in front, closer to Regulus turns, and he smiles.

“One of the Black boys, eh?” Regulus takes a few steps into the shop. Dark magic is thick in the air, heavy enough for Regulus to need to catch his breath as he steps inside. The man at the counter straightens up and he is tall, too tall, almost seven feet. His skin is leathery, and his hair long and unruly. The magic comes off of him in waves, and it tastes like iron in the air. His eyes are yellow. Regulus has seen his face plastered on the MOST WANTED pages many times before.

“Yes, Regulus.” Regulus straightens too, his chin up, and Fenrir Greyback regards him with those eerie glowing eyes.

“Could smell you,” The werewolf says. “These Pureblood families. Magic so strong you can taste it. It’s a beautiful thing.” Whether he’d admit it or not, Regulus is scared of this werewolf with the yellow eyes and haunting grin. He kills children, Regulus knows, sinks his teeth into their skin and kills them. Or else ruins their lives, if they are unfortunate enough to survive. Greyback’s eyes flicker across Regulus’s, and Regulus stares him down.

“Anyway.” The other man finally speaks, and Greyback turns away from Regulus. 

“Don’t let me keep you, I’ll be on my way. Good man, Crabbe.” Mr. Crabbe, that’s who the man behind the counter is, and Regulus suddenly recognizes him. Crabbe’s muddy brown eyes share the same apprehension that Regulus feels, and both of them watch Greyback leave in careful silence. Once the werewolf has left, the tension in the air dissipates and the taste of dark magic is no longer working its way down Regulus’s throat. 

Mr. Crabbe fits him with a mask; porcelain on the outside but unbreakable in reality. There are silver whirls in the dark material, and if Regulus taps his fingernails along it, they click loudly. It feels cowardly to know he has to hide his face. There is not much of a sense of safety in the situations Regulus has put himself in: the dark chill of Knockturn Alley or else shops with mangy werewolves hanging about in them. 

Regulus feels worse than a coward knowing that he’s also a customer at shops that werewolves go to. He goes and finds Bellatrix in Borgin and Burkes, which is still dark and yet much more familiar. Nothing like the strange glamour storefront where Greyback and Crabbe spend days, derelict and dizzy. Regulus wants to go home.

And he does, briefly, but then Theodora writes him a letter saying she’s back from holiday and wants to see him as soon as he can come, so Regulus comes right away. 

He’s not very good at sneaking because he’s not a good liar, not like Sirius. Not like other Slytherins, really, for that matter. Though lying and sneaking are not admirable traits, and so Regulus does a non-commendable slink as he stands in the dark square outside Grimmauld Place and thinks very, very hard about Theodora’s house.

Regulus had learned to Apparate this summer under some guidance from Evan’s older brother. Jonathan had told him it would come in handy for when the Dark Lord summons them, and that there’s nothing wrong in learning a little early. Neither Evan or Regulus have licences because they’re both sixteen and haven’t yet started sixth year, but Regulus has been practicing over the summer and understands that sometimes being unregistered or unlicenced isn’t the worst thing a boy can be.

And besides, it’ll impress Theodora. 

The grounds of her house are huge and sprawling. Regulus tries not to feel jealous as he wanders through the outskirts of her yard, hoping not to be caught. It’s not as though their relationship is a secret, in fact, there had been a good amount of talk about them as fifth year had drawn to a close. They just haven’t told their parents. To be honest, Regulus isn’t really _afraid_ of telling his parents, rather he’s just apprehensive about the fact that they’ll have him married in a few years time.

Having Regulus married to a nice Pureblooded girl, from the Sacred Twenty Eight, no less, is exactly what his parents want. But Regulus doesn’t want to be settled down and married that quickly. Especially as a Death Eater. He doesn’t want to put Theodora in danger. But, in the end… maybe it would be for the best. 

Regulus doesn’t want an arranged marriage, like Bellatrix had. Narcissa had been lucky in finding someone acceptable without her parents picking someone. And his parents _will_ approve of Theodora, after all... Regulus meditates on these thoughts as he wanders through the grounds.

The evening is warm. A full moon glows, and crickets chirp. The lush grasses of Theodora’s sprawling estate wave gently in the breeze, and Regulus shifts further behind the tree he’s picked as a waiting place. There’s a garden, and a veggie patch, and neatly planted flower beds that bloom only silver in the moonlight. Regulus gently lowers himself onto the ground, not giving too much of a care if he dirties his trousers. It’s dark, anyways.

He sits with his legs stretched out and his hands back on the gnarled roots. The night is calmly quiet. Regulus waits. Unlike the majority of other Blacks, Regulus has always had a fine sense of patience. A silvery light washes down upon him from the full moon. Regulus thinks about that awful man in Crabbe’s shop, the werewolf. His leathery skin, sharp grin, yellow eyes. Regulus shivers.

From behind him, a voice asks, “Missed me?” Regulus rises and turns and Theodora is there, hugging him tight enough to knock the breath out of him.

“Seems like _you’ve_ been missing me!” Theodora squeezes him even tighter and then lets go. She takes a step back and is beautiful; tanned, freckled, smiling. Regulus is always breathless at the sight of her. 

“Il n'est pas bon d'être à part.” Regulus laughs. 

“When did you pick up French?”

“Oh, I dunno, spending a month in France?”

“Je parle trop,” Regulus tells her with a smile. “Combien avez-vous compris?" 

“Un peu.” Theodora shakes her hand from side to side to demonstrate her apparently lacking French skills. “Not the best, but.”

“Nor am I, it’s just fun to speak another language.”

“So we can practice!”

“Yes!” Theodora pauses, then, looking at him with a smile on her face.

“It really _is_ good to see you again. Even if you’re hiding out here in the darkness. It’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I’m hoping for a happier ending.”

“As am I.” Theodora links her hand through his in a gesture of familiarity and sets off across the grounds, Regulus into easy step beside her. “Sooo, what have you been up to?”

“Haven’t my letters told you enough? It’s been dry as all hell here. Flying around with Anthony and Evan, homework, reading, whatever. I’m sure you have some tales for me.” And tales, Theodora has. Regulus loves listening to her talk; her storytelling is always enchanting and she punctuates her sentences with clear enthusiasm that makes him smile just because. 

They walk farther away from her house (mansion) and continue farther into the darkness. Regulus, gathering his nerves, begins as tactfully as he can:

“I was thinking, lately, if you would like to meet my parents? I’m sure they’d love you. And it only feels right.”

“Yes, imbécile, I’d love to meet your parents.” And Theodora as always finds ways to make things easier. It should not be a stressful conversation and Theodora at least _also_ has enough tact to make it easy, and she smiles at him so sweetly that he has no choice but to lean in and kiss her. His hands still shake when this happens, but less so. It’s becoming familiar but in no way old. 

Regulus’s shoes are muddy and stuck with pieces of grass when he Apparates back home, but no one is awake save for Kreacher, who opens the door before Regulus can.

“Master Regulus is too young to be Apparating and must be careful,” Kreacher tells him in a very strangely mothering voice as Regulus slips inside. “Kreacher should tell Master Regulus’s parents.”

“But Kreacher won’t, will he?” Regulus asks as he hops around on one foot to take his shoe off, and then the other. “Would you clean these for me, please? I don’t want to get mud everywhere.”

“Master Regulus is very thoughtful,” Kreacher says, and he takes Regulus’s shoes to clean. Regulus tells him thank you, and then creeps upstairs to bed, doing a rather successful job of not waking up anyone. Next day, over dinner, Regulus and his mother interrupt each other when it comes to sharing news. 

“I was wanting to talk to you about-”

“Your aunt Druella and I have been planning-” Both Walburga and Regulus fall silent, surprised, and stare at each other over the table. “Go ahead,” Walburga tells him.

“No, no, you can go.” Orion watches with general disinterest. Regulus is not sure if his father has ever expressed passion for anything in his whole life.

“We were thinking about having a grand old party,” Walburga explains. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a big nice one, for friends as well as family, and New Years’ doesn’t count.” Regulus assumes it’s because they all get too potted to even remember the night. “It would be fun, don’t you think? We all need to pick up the mood these days.”

Orion says nothing, and so Regulus is the one who tells his mum that it’s a good idea.

“You would just need a date, Regulus.”

“Oh, well.” Regulus laughs nervously. “It just happens that _my_ news has to do with a date. Er. I have a girlfriend, actually, and I’d like you to meet her. Maybe she can come to the party?”

“What’s her name?”

“Theodora Rowle.” And Walburga is _ever_ so pleased, and even Orion tries to plaster on a happy look for the sake of his son. Walburga says she wants to meet Theodora personally, not just at some glitzy party, and invites her to come over later in the week while Regulus nervously wonders about what they’re supposed to talk about at a dinner with parents. Parent, perhaps, singular, because Regulus is sure that his dad won’t speak more than ten words for the entire occasion.

But he has done it again, pleased his parents, and although this is never anything new, Regulus is sometimes carefully wary around his parents. His mother. He had not forgotten what had happened to Sirius. They don’t talk about him anymore, not ever. It’s as though he had never existed. His bedroom door remains tightly closed. Regulus is now an only child.

Regulus had seen his brother walk on eggshells around Walburga, seen the way he hardly spoke and then was chastised for it, but when he did speak it always seemed like his words were wrong. Regulus remembers his older brother lying on the floor of the parlor after his mother had tortured him. 

There’s a note from last summer and it says _I’m getting out as soon as I can and you can always come with me._ It says _I love you_ even though Regulus has never heard Sirius speak those words out loud, thinks he’s incapable. Regulus had found the note days after Sirius’s departure and he had cried reading it. 

Then assumed his brother had written it in some starvation fit slash fever dream, because he had essentially not existed in those weeks spent at home in 1976. The last Regulus had seen of him had been rather miserable, for Sirius had been all skeletal and scary looking. He’d been quiet for most of his last dinner at home, eating very quickly and then sitting around looking dazed until… until it had happened. Regulus still isn’t sure. 

Walburga had started screaming and Sirius had started screaming, and he’d said some things that he shouldn’t have, and things had changed, even for Regulus. He hasn’t seen his father say so many words or speak so loudly in a years’ time. Sirius’s disownment had been difficult for his father and Regulus doesn’t know why. None of them had been kind to Sirius. Regulus is happy that he is gone maybe only so Sirius can be happy for once.

Regulus isn’t sure if his brother would have survived living at home until he was out of Hogwarts.

And Regulus himself had never been hurt by his mother so he isn’t the one who should be afraid of her. He isn’t _afraid,_ necessarily, but ever since that day last summer, he’s been a little tenser around her because of the sheer knowledge of what she _could_ do if he made her too angry. But Regulus is many things that Sirius is not. Regulus is loyal, loving, and a Good Son. He does not go out of his way to antagonize his own family. These are the reasons why he’s never been subject to violence at the hands of his own family and in the end, didn’t Sirius deserve it?

Anyway.

There are more complex things to worry about than a brother who isn’t a brother anymore, who doesn’t exist anymore. Regulus doesn’t know where he lives or what he does outside of school and they are no longer family. His mum burnt his name off of the family tree, and it was the cleanest cut they could manage. 

Theodora writes that she can come on Friday night so Regulus looks forward to that instead of worrying about werewolves and dangerous missions and whether he’s going to drop out of school after sixth year. There’s a good many things to think about in regards to the future but they are far away.

Something much more tangible happens on Friday evening, shortly before Theodora is scheduled to Floo over in a way that is distinctly _un_ sneaky, and Regulus is pacing about the house hoping that everyone behaves themselves. Walburga is sitting in the living room, reading a magazine, although she’s instead watching him pace, eyes flickering back and forth over the top of it.

“Regulus, why don’t you go find your father?”

“What?”

“Go find your father, tell him to come downstairs.”

“Are we eating right away?”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know!” Regulus is buzzing with nervous energy. “I don’t know, mum, what am I _supposed_ to do?” Walburga looks perplexed.

“It’s your date!”

“I- what _else_ are we supposed to do? Go hang out in my room?” Regulus turns red and regrets the words as soon as he says them. “Don’t answer that. Nevermind. You know what? I’m going to find dad.” Walburga scoffs with laughter as Regulus rushes out of the parlor and then up the stairs, not going to find any comfort in speaking to his father, but at least it’s something to do.

He knocks on the closed door to his parents’ bedroom and then peeks in.

“Dad, Theodora will be here soon” Orion is sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “Dad?” He looks up and Regulus sees tears falling down his face although he doesn’t seem to notice them, and he stares around in apparent horror, blue eyes focusing on Regulus and they are panicked. “Dad, what’s wrong?” Orion opens his mouth and no words come out. “Dad…” Regulus walks over to Orion, who looks as though maybe he’s been hexed. It’s the only explanation Regulus can think up. 

“Sirius?” Orion asks.

“No, it’s me. Regulus. Sirius isn’t here. What’s wrong?” Orion puts his head in his hands. “Dad…?”

“I’m sorry,” Orion says, his voice thick but certain. “I’m having trouble… I didn’t know…” Regulus hesitates, rocking back and forth on his feet, not knowing that to say. “I felt like static.” He looks up and his face crumples. “Regulus. I _know_ who you are.”

“You called me Sirius.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what was wrong. I’m…. sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, dad, it’s okay.”

Orion stands up shakily and looks at Regulus as though with new eyes. Regulus hesitates, not knowing what to say.

“Regulus.” His voice is still unsteady. “I’m sorry. That was just… it was just.”

“Shall I get mum? Do you want to come downstairs?” Orion sits back down on the bed. He looks completely lost. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll get mum.”

“Don’t do that.” And so they hesitate in this period of silence. Regulus picks up on the moments of quiet from his father, those in betweens where there’s nothing to do but hesitate and hover. 

“Are you coming to dinner?”

“I don’t think I can.” Orion lowers his head. “I’m sorry, Regulus, I know how much it means…”

“Oh, that’s okay. That’s okay. You’ll meet her another time. I’ll just… go, then. Unless you need anything?” Orion shakes his head and that solemn silence continues to permeate through the room, the house, even through dinner. Theodora and Walburga get on better than Regulus could have even hoped, but he’s sad to admit that his thoughts are completely elsewhere during dinner. 

And after, him and Theodora go for a walk around Islington. _Filthy Muggles everywhere,_ his mum had told them and Theodora had only shrugged. The unspoken question of _Why do you live here, then?_ had hung in the air until Regulus had pulled her out the door. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. “You seem kind of… distant.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Regulus does not elaborate. Theodora must assume he’s referencing the Death Eaters, and she doesn’t ask. “Sorry,” He says, “It’s just a weird day. I’m so glad you came. My mum loved you.” Regulus says the right things but still feels wrong after Theodora leaves, has to sleep down the hall from his father.

And something is wrong with his father while Regulus doesn’t know what to do about it. So he lies in bed that night and wishes that Sirius were here.

It’s not often that he wants his brother back. When the feelings do come, they are stronger than anything and sometimes make Regulus want to cry. 

What could he do about his dad and his strange loss of memory? He can’t talk to his mum about it because she’s pretending nothing’s wrong. He’s sure that he shouldn’t tell the cousins or aunt and uncle that his dad is ill… and it’s too personal to tell his friends.

This is the kind of thing you talk to your brother about. So Regulus writes Sirius another letter all locked up in his head. More words that he’ll never work up the courage (or is it cowardice?) to even put down on parchment. 

_Sirius, I think dad’s going mental. Actually round the twist. Thought I was you today and then told me he felt like static. I thought he’d been hexed but now I think he’s just ill._

_But really ill. Badly ill. I should have seen it before, I think, because he’s been so quiet lately and there’s never anything to say. Except he forgets. He doesn’t remember things properly. He thinks I’m you all the time. So I think he might miss you._

_I do too. Not the way things were when you were here, but you in general. Sometimes things are lonely when the only friend around is Kreacher, and that’s sort of his job. Anyway, I’d love to hear from you. Plus I need your help/advice on what to do about dad._

~~_I love you and I miss you and I wish you’d come home_ ~~

_Write soon,_

_Regulus_

Regulus writes a thousand versions of this letter in his mind as some fucked up therapeutic way to get himself to fall asleep. He’s half dreaming by the time he realizes that all of this is true and what’s more is that he misses his big brother more than anything.

And there’s no one he can tell about that, either.


	100. [HOLS '77] Devil May Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100th chapter woo! i've decided that i'm going to turn this fic into a series and the war itself is going to be a new fic because otherwise this shit is going to be sooo long and it'll be neater if i just separate it. so we have a final chapter count! omg finally! i'm gonna pick right up after 7th year so there won't be any break in posting :) 
> 
> anyways i love this chapter because nothing gets me inspired quite like domestic wolfstar

_ we were bare knuckled, tight lip, middle fingers up, ego trip _

_ devil may care but we didn’t mind, i won’t forget the good times _

_ we’re the boys in black smoking cigarettes, chasing girls who didn’t know love yet _

_ as the bonfire moon came down _

_ i won’t forget the good times _

**r**

“It  _ is  _ hot out there!”

“Who would have fucking guessed?” Mold, Wales, August of 1977 and Remus has finally been given the belief of his friends when he says that sometimes Wales is, indeed, unbearably hot; they are in the worst of a heat wave and it’s the middle of the day and Sirius has just come back from running.

His hair is tied up in his best attempt at a ponytail, and he’s drenched in a liberal amount of sweat. Remus is lying on the sofa with all the doors and windows open, and a fan blowing. It’s too hot to be upstairs right now. Sirius collapses on the sofa next to Remus, who makes a loud, disgusted noise of protest and moves away from him.

“Get off, you’re all gross!”

“Guess who I ran into? Haha, get it?  _ Ran _ ?” 

Remus’s voice is impossibly tired as he asks, “Who?”

“Sion! And then he came jogging with me!” 

“Lush!” Remus’s voice is heavily sarcastic, and Sirius punches him on the shoulder. He’s still catching his breath, and he smells like sweat. There is something undeniably sexy about Sirius like this, when his body is still radiating warmth and Remus can hear his heartbeat from all the way across the sofa. They don’t even have to touch and their heartlines are still tied. 

This summer, golden and green, has been the best that Remus thinks he’s ever had. Most summers are punctuated with at least one period of suicidal depression that leaves him bedbound and inconsolable. These fits sometimes creep up on him and strike out of nowhere, and other times Remus can see them coming from miles away. This year, he’s remained blissfully  _ alright,  _ which is a surprise to both him and possibly Sirius, although they haven’t even had to talk about mental health in months.

They haven’t talked about physical health either, but Remus has been okay lately in every sense of anything. Sirius has lost weight in a very responsible way involving proper diet and exercise. Remus never really considered Sirius’s weight to be a problem but thinks that if he is losing it, at least he’s not starving himself. 

Sirius tiredly says: “I love Sion.”

“Why don’t you marry him?” Sirius adjusts his position on the sofa to deliver a kick to Remus’s side. He looks faintly ridiculous wearing trainers and some old clothes of Remus’s to run in. “You two are better friends then me and him.”

“He’s a good bloke.”

“True.” Remus tilts his head back and lays with his head hanging off the arm of the sofa. “I’m so  _ bored _ .”

“Want to go swimming?”

“Mmm…. maybe later.” 

“Alright?”

“Just lazy.” Sirius stretches out opposite Remus and their legs tangle together. Sirius assumes a mirrored position of Remus’s, his head draping over the opposite arm of the sofa. They lie like that for a while. Remus falls asleep. He wakes up maybe an hour later. Sirius has showered and is reading a big, dusty looking book about mechanics that even Remus hasn’t ever laid eyes on.

“What’s that?”

“Trying to live vicariously through this book for as long as I have to be away from Ziggy.”

“You learned how to read? When did that happen?”

“Shove off! You want to swim now?”

“Well, you’ve taken a shower, so there’s no point now, is there?” 

“You’re the laziest bastard in the entire world.” Remus yawns at Sirius in response. 

“Time’s it?”

“Time for you to get a watch!” Remus howls loudly, yawning and stretching at the same time, and finally drags himself to his feet. “Four fifteen, about, and where is your watch, anyways?” 

“Ugh, don’t even ask me. I’ll find it later. Shall we take Luke out?”

“Yeah.” 

There is nothing that makes Remus feel more utterly domestic than the presence of Sirius Black in his home. They walk the dog together, through the dried out fields that are huge and sprawling under the summer sunshine. The horizon stretches forever. Sometimes when Remus looks up at the sky, he feels as though he could fall face first into the blue. 

They cook dinner and eat it at the small iron table in the back garden. They clean up after and Remus always leaves some leftovers for his dad. Sometimes, when they are truly and desperately bored, they tidy up. Sirius had cast a complicated Duplication Charm on Remus’s rusty old bike so now there are two, and they bike around Northern Wales like Remus used to do with his friends. 

His last summer at home is not the same as he’d ever expected it to be. Sirius has permeated every part of his life and Remus thinks he doesn’t mind one bit. Tonight the sunset leaves them both speechless as they drink wine in the garden. 

A sparrow sings as the sun turns him purple. Perched at the edge of the fence and behind him the sky is streaked pink and then orange. They drink the sun as it falls asleep. Behind it there is a quiet chirping of crickets and the sound of dead, dry things rustling in a soft breeze. Sirius closes his eyes to take it all in.

Sometimes when he’s high, Sirius will talk about those moments where he actually falls silent. Moments so rare and often fleeting, and Sirius had told Remus,  _ I sit and think that I am so grateful, I am so very grateful to be alive. Last summer, when I ran away, I kept getting caught up in the disbelief in the very fact that I existed somewhere that wasn’t Grimmauld and it makes me want to cry that I am lucky enough to be alive.  _

_ Especially at the same time as you. _

They go to sleep that night over the covers and with the windows open. The air has only cooled by a few degrees and there is still a humid, sticky heat that chokes them as they toss and turn on a twin sized mattress. But warm is better than frozen, and at least their bellies are full. They wake up early with the sunrise. 

Sirius’s hair is long and sweaty, matted to his neck, and he and Remus share a shower together. They end up fooling around halfway through under that rain of warm water, and Remus turns off the shower to save water but does not let up and instead continues palming, touching, kissing and sucking. Sirius sits on the counter, hefts himself up onto it, and Remus kisses him hard. He runs his hands across Sirius’s bare chest, still beaded with cool water, and then one down his stomach and palming his hard cock.

“Uhgh,” Sirius breathes, “You’re a fucking tease.”

“Takes one to know one.” Remus sucks hard at Sirius’s neck, nibbling out a love bite. Sirius groans. “Desperate, huh?” He wraps his hand around Sirius’s cock and finally starts to move. A knock on the bathroom door brings Sirius into a fit of ungainly laughter; he holds onto Remus as the other boy turns bright red, Lyall calls through the door- “I’ve got to get ready!” Remus presses a sweaty hand to Sirius’s mouth but first has to contain himself. His face is nearly purple with the effort of holding back laughter. 

They make a sight to see: Sirius sitting on the counter, pantsless, stiff as a rod, Remus in nothing but his pants, feeling distinctly stupid.

“Kill me,” he says, quiet enough for only Sirius to hear, “I can’t bear it.” All Sirius can do is shake his head, as Remus’s hand is still clamped firmly over his mouth.

“Give us a minute, dad, okay?” Remus calls. Sirius squeaks “us!” from under Remus’s hand, and Remus does not hasten to correct himself because  _ us,  _ in British English, can most definitely mean  _ me  _ in the right situation, but Sirius is smacking him on the arm and Lyall says, “Youse have five minutes!”

_ Youse. _

Sirius is laughing so hard that he might be crying, though Remus isn’t sticking around to see. 

“Finish!” Sirius whisper screams, noting that Remus is dressing himself, and then lowers his own hand to his cock while Remus swipes at him.

“My dad will come  _ in,  _ crazy, hold it together and I can finish you in my bedroom!” His voice is an angry hiss, but as he jumps into his trousers, he can’t help but grin. Sirius seems to be having trouble getting dressed and keeps bursting into fits of laughter and he contains in his hands. Remus, dressed the best he can, cracks open the bathroom door and peers either way. The hall seems to be empty.

“Alright, go!” He shoves Sirius out of the bathroom. Remus is glad that his house is so small and that his bedroom is only a few steps away. Sirius scampers down the hall, still shirtless, and Remus cleans up the sink very quickly before rushing after him. And then, his worst nightmare occurs in regards to a too familiar voice from behind him.

“Remus- one second.” Remus, face burning, reluctantly turns around to face his tired looking dad. “No shagging in the bathroom, okay? Off limits.”

“ _ Dad! _ ” Remus gasps outrageously. 

“You know, I know, I mean- you and Sirius, I mean. It can be hard-”

“Dad, please stop-”

“And sexuality, or whatever, it’s very complex especially in this modern age-”

“Dad, honestly, stop talking-”

“And you’re probably very confused-”

“I’m not  _ confused _ -!”

“I’m happy for you.” 

Remus and Lyall stare at each other in awkward, confused silence. 

“Erm.” Remus is the first to speak. “Thank you?” Lyall nods weakly. “I’m going to let you get ready, so, you know, have a great day at work.” And then he bolts backwards down the hall into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, trying to retain some small understanding of what just happened. Sirius looks at Remus fearfully.

“So what did he say?!”

“He said he’s  _ happy  _ for me.” There is a very heavy pause in which Sirius tries to digest this information. 

At long last, he says, “This makes so much sense.” Remus’s raised eyebrows beg the question. “He gave me that book on mechanics after I told him about my motorbike, and when we came home from Benjy and Caradoc’s he said it was good to  _ see  _ me, and he told me he liked my Docs…” Sirius gestures at his Doc Martens which Mary had ever so helpfully painted over their holiday. They’re red white and blue with a Union Jack painted on them.

“And those times he eats dinner with us…” Remus and Sirius stand there, lost in thought.

“He’s trying to be a good parent, at least.” Sirius offers.

“He  _ is  _ a good parent.” A few years ago, Remus would have laughed out loud at anyone daring to call Lyall Lupin anything close to a good parent. Now… well, there’s no question that things have changed. Remus’s dad  _ tries,  _ and that’s what counts. He talks to Remus more than before. Sometimes, in a way that becomes physically painful because of how awkward it is, he checks in on him in regards to mental health. They don’t fight every day, and they don’t ignore each other. 

Still, Lyall has trouble directing Remus. Some weeks they hardly see each other because Remus is working, Remus is out with friends, Remus is halfway across the country and camping in Lily’s back garden. Giving his son incredible amounts of freedom under the guise of neglect since he was a young teenager has led Remus to raise himself and grow up on his own.

Tonight, he is taking Sirius to his first ever Muggle party, and Sirius couldn’t be more excited.

“Do I look good? Muggle enough?  _ Sexy  _ enough?”

“You look plenty sexy, Sirius, okay, we’ve got to go meet Barry or we’ll be late. Alright?” Remus pats down the pockets of his jeans, making sure he has his wallet, keys, lighter, packet of Woodbines and the cigarette case he keeps his handrolled fags and joints in. 

“I’m ready.” Sirius has been fussing over his appearance for the past hour or so, and has settled on looking daring enough to show up to another fabled party down in Wrexham. He wears black jeans, tight and torn, his painted Docs, and a dark t-shirt. It’s too hot for his leather jacket, but he folds it over his shoulder anyways and stomps down the stairs with Remus behind him. 

They say bye to Luke, lock up the doors, and head down into Mold to find Barry, who’d offered to give them a ride.

“You know, Sirius,” He says once they’re all jammed into his car, “You’ve got to cut your hair short if you really want to look like a punk.” Sirius absentmindedly touches his hair. It had been so hot this summer that he’d cut it to just above his shoulders, but ties it up most days to keep him cooler. “You could shave it,” Barry continues, “Shave it all, or shave the sides.”

“Like a skinhead.” Barry’s friend in the passenger seat, Lloyd, turns to look back at Sirius. He sneers. “Not you, though, too posh. Best to keep it long.”

“You could get away with it short.” Barry looks at Sirius’s hair in his rearview mirror. Remus isn’t sure how they’ve gotten onto the topic of Sirius’s hair but then they discuss more things: punk music, playing guitar, how plastered they’re planning on getting tonight. Barry remains rather clandestine about whether he’ll be trying to remain sober enough to drive them back home and Remus considers finding another friend to get a ride home with, but he’ll see. He might not care by the end of the night. 

This turns out to be true. Someone tells someone who tells someone that Remus is getting out of Mold after this summer, and he finds himself roped into conversations with mere acquaintances who consider themselves his friends. And there are drinks. Many, many drinks. Remus can’t very well turn people down, and so he accepts and knocks them back, progressively getting more and more drunk as the night goes on. 

The sun sets and the moon rises. It’s full tomorrow and Remus is forgetting how it feels to be a werewolf by mixing vodka and apple juice or else taking a long drink of whatever  _ that  _ might be. Remus ends up sitting outside in a smoke circle, passing spliffs around with some familiar faces and some stranger ones. Remus has been talking. To be honest, he’s sort of been rambling on and on for a while, mostly about magic, and him being magic.

A girl named Rosie sits on one side of him and Sirius is on the other, leaning back against the porch, passing the joint along whenever it comes to him instead of taking a drag. Rosie is positively hanging off of Remus in a way he doesn’t so much mind because there’s something a little  _ fun  _ about this attention, and then Sion shows up. 

Remus sees him out of the corner of his eye for a moment and then focuses properly, seeing his sly grin as the joint is handed to him and he sits down in between some people he recognizes. Remus does not greet him and instead continues on his drunken tirade. 

“And guess what, guess what?” The crowd around Remus seems to lean in with interest and he is in his element, obsessed, loving how everyone seems to hang on his words. “I’m a  _ werewolf  _ too!” A roar of laughter from the crowd. Sirius touches his hand and Remus pulls his away, shooting a dark look at his boyfriend. 

“Every full moon, I turn into a wolf. That’s where I got all these scars.” Remus gestures carelessly at his face, and many eyes follow. “Any questions, class?”

“How’d you turn into a werewolf? Were you born that way?”

“Excellent question! I was bitten when I was five years old.” 

“Bitten by who?”

“Another werewolf, of course!” 

“Can you turn someone into a werewolf?”

“Yeah, but only if I’m a wolf. On the full moon. It’s tomorrow night!” Remus points at the sky and a dozen faces follow his finger to look at the rounded out glowing moon. “If you hear howling, that’s me!” He tilts his head back and howls loudly- “Awooo!” Next to him, Rosie joins in. A couple other people around the circle howl as well, and they all giggle madly once finished. 

Someone cuts through the fun and games with an even better proposition. “Alright, Remus, fancy another drink?” Remus looks up in surprise as it’s Sion who’s asking, having stood up again. The circle of people shifts as Remus exits, Sirius still following quietly behind him even though Remus has all but forgotten about him. 

“Hey, Sion, how are you?” Remus asks once they’re back inside. “Where’ve you been? I missed you.” He stumbles over his feet and crashes into Sion, who holds him steady. 

“Watch out there, mate. I’ve been at practice.”

“Practice?”

“Football.” Sion looks distracted. “Hey, Sirius.”

“Hiya,” Sirius tells him, still oddly quiet. 

“Are you two ready to go home?”

“Home? I’ve only just gotten started! Where’s that drink you promised me, huh?” Remus shoves at Sion playfully. “Football practice, what a drag, will you get me another drink?” Neither Sion nor Sirius want to argue and so Remus is given one more drink, and this drink brings him past the peak of fun time drunk into puke time drunk, and he is left feeling awfully nauseous. 

“Second drink was a bad idea!” Sion tells him cheerfully as he leads Remus outside round the front of the house. 

“How’d you get here?” Sirius’s voice seems to come out of nowhere and the darkness.

“Bus,” Sion says sparingly. “We can take it back, if that suits you?”

The question is more directed at Sirius, but Remus responds anyways. “Taking the  _ bus? _ I’d rather die! I’ll be sick everywhere!  _ Blergh! _ ” Remus enunciates the puking sounds enough that Sion tells him to stop. About thirty minutes later, Remus does end up puking, either on the bus or on the steps as he staggers off it, and he falls to the kerb while retching as Sion and Sirius curse and swear around him.

The bus driver shouts after them and Sion tells him they’re okay. The whole world is spinning. Remus does not feel quite okay. The streetlamp in front of him keeps swirling in circles. He pukes again, face and nose and mouth burning. Sweat mats his hair. His stomach twists in pain.

“Fuck, Moony…” Remus makes a weak noise of protest as he throws up again. The world keeps circling. Tyres grit against dirt and the acrid smell of the bus disappears. 

“Jesus christ, how much did he drink?”

“God, I dunno. More than five… there were shots and drinks, though. He had a lot.” Remus puts his head in his hands.

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.” 

Remus pukes again. On his shoes. Neither Sion or Sirius seem to notice. 

“Fuck this,” Sion says. He squats down closer to Remus. “Remus, can you hear me?”

“‘M sick.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Can you walk?” Remus only laughs. “Well, we’re not going to carry you.”

“Levitate me.”

“Yeah, wish I could.” Sion scuffs at the ground with his shoe and stands up. He talks to Sirius while Remus heaves for breath and prays for the world to stop spinning. Some conversation is exchanged, and Sion leaves. Sirius sits down on the kerb next to Remus. 

“Moony, you just broke about a million counts of the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Ask me if I give a shit.”

Somehow, in the hot and heavy Friday night darkness, Remus makes it home without spewing sick all over his house. Only Luke is home to help. Remus is so hungover the next day that Sirius has to literally drag him out of bed.

“You’ve got to say goodbye to Sion, remember?” He asks as he pushes a toothbrush into Remus’s sweaty hand. “I won’t forgive you if you don’t.”

“I’ll see him over Christmas,” Remus grumbles as he shoves the toothbrush into his mouth. It does get rid of the crusty, disgusting taste of vomit left over in his mouth. “It’s not my last day, is it?”

“No, Moony… the moon’s tonight, and your last day’s tomorrow.”

“Right.” Remus spits toothpaste into the sink. His head aches something awful, and he won’t feel any better until a few days after the full moon. Getting hungover right before a transformaton has never been a good plan. “Fuck. I guess I’ll go find him.”

“And apologize.” Remus frowns at Sirius.

“For what?”

“Last night.”

Remus isn’t sure what he’d done last night save for getting a little too drunk that he has to be sorry for. He skips breakfast for fear of it all coming up again, and instead wobbles on his bike as he sets off to go find Sion. He’s a very forgiving person. 

They take an abridged bike tour of Mold as they talk about last night, and after that they mostly fall silent and reminisce in their own heads. 

Here’s the thicket of trees where Stanley took them to smoke the first time; white, unfiltered fags and they had coughed up their lungs and lain there afterwards all sick and dizzy from nicotine. A grey haze of smoke above them in a light so golden and pure and untouched. And Sion leans his bike up against the gate so Remus does the same, following behind him, wanting to reach forward and touch his hand again to bring him closer so maybe he won’t have to leave after all.

If anyone in the world is a soulmate then maybe it’s Sion Pembroke. He’s never hurt Remus in his life. He is fair, kind, understanding. When they sit on the gnarled roots of the tree, Sion looks sort of warily at Remus.

“You said some things last night.” Remus cannot remember last night. “Said you were a magic werewolf. Carrying on about being a werewolf, and all this magical bollocks.” Sion clears his throat. “You were pretty drunk.” 

“Yeah…” Remus lowers his head. “I… damn, it sounds stupid when you say it out loud. I  _ am  _ a magic werewolf.” Sion is quiet. Remus holds his hand out and lights a small fire in the palm of his hand, the wordless, wandless magic he’s perfected to light up cigarettes. Sion stares. Remus extinguishes the fire.

“There’s a lot more to it. I have a wand-”

“A magic wand?” Sion’s eyes are wide. “Seriously?”

“Dead on, butt.” Remus shifts and pulls the wand out of his pocket while Sion makes a funny noise in his throat. “Not even joking. Here. Er.  _ Wingardium leviosa _ .” Sion watches in wide eyed, shocked silence as Remus levitates a stick into the air and waves it around in front of them. “And so on. There’s curses, hexes, spells for everything. Even killing.”

“You’re fucking insane, Remus. You’re- you’re actually a  _ magician? _ And a werewolf too?”

“We’re called  _ wizards,  _ thank you very much, and yeah, but the werewolf part is a secret, so don’t tell anyone.” Sion gives him a long look. “I’m joking.”

“Fuck you, this isn’t funny. This is so strange. Everything you said last night was true? You got bitten? That’s how you got all the scars? Is  _ that  _ why you act so off sometimes? Because of the moon? Fuck, this all makes sense! And those weird textbooks-”

“Spellbooks,”

“Spellbooks!  _ Re-mus _ !” Sion’s voice is patronizing. “That’s why Sirius is so clueless about everything? He’s a magician- wizard, too? And you’re- you’re at a wizarding school! That’s why you don’t own a car! That’s- so your dad, he is too? And your mum?”

“My mum wasn’t magic. My dad is. It’s- erm, it’s honestly illegal to be telling you this. There’s a Statute of Secrecy. And an entire government… the Ministry of Magic.” Sion laughs. “I’m not having you on, by the way, this is all true. Christ, Sion, I didn’t think I’d be telling you…”

And Sion spends the whole day teasing Remus because he’s a magician, oh,  _ sorry,  _ wizard werewolf and he keeps asking him to demonstrate spells although after a while Remus has to seriously tell him that he  _ will  _ be in trouble for breaking the Statute of Secrecy and so Sion says,  _ This can be our little secret, you can only show off for me. _

When dusk falls and Remus has to return home in that inevitable way that always happens, he thinks that he’d rather not. He’d spent plenty of nights sleeping over in Sion’s room and wants to do it again tonight, just because. 

But they aren’t kids anymore.

Sion says, “This is it, then, huh?”

“I’ll be back for Christmas…”

“Our last summer, though.” Sion kicks a pebble along the ground as they walk their bikes up the street. His tanned skin is a little pink, a tinge purple in the light of another sunset. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll call, you know. And next year, I mean, we’ll be adults. I mean. I’m moving away.”

“I know, stupid.”

“But you can come visit. Me and Sirius have been talking about Cardiff.” Sion smiles as he looks up Remus’s street, at the small stone houses. “Not too far from you.”

“I don’t know where I’ll be, that’s the thing.”

“Oh.”

“But we’ll keep in touch.”

“Of course.” Whether they like it or not, they’ve reached Remus’s house. Sion turns to look at him. Dark hair, dark eyes, nice lips. He smiles. 

“You’re the best, Remus.”

“I love you.” Sion’s smile saddens.

“I love you too.” They hug each other for a long while until Remus finally forces himself to pull away. Sion breathes out shakily and says, “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always. You too.”

“I’ll see you in December.”


	101. [YR 7] We Were Younger Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo! finals are OVER and it's the last night of hanukkah so let's celebrate with some 7th year shenanigans.

_ i can’t believe how strange it is to be alive right now _

**d**

Dorcas Meadowes has a secret and so does her girlfriend. Both of these secrets have made rather remarkable differences in their lives in either small or large ways, and both of these secrets stay just between them.

Marlene’s isn’t so bad. 

In early July, after school had ended, Marlene had been contacted by a scout from the Appleby Arrows and offered a trial position playing Beater for them. She had written Dorcas a letter about what to do in regards of accepting the offer or not, but Dorcas hadn’t received it because she hadn’t been at home. 

Marlene had turned them down by the time Dorcas had washed up in Edinburgh feeling more lost than she ever had before. And it had been a strange thing, because Dorcas has always been quite sure of herself. Running away from home had not been on her list of things to do over the summer, and she’d felt quite dramatic upon her entrance to the McKinnons. 

Once she’d waded through the muck of explaining herself to Marlene’s mum and her eldest brother Oliver, who had been home from America for reasons unknown to Dorcas, Marlene had been quietly understanding about the whole situation. Dorcas hasn’t told anyone else which makes it a secret. 

Everyone had heard about Sirius Black running away because he’s  _ Sirius Black  _ and there had been something delicious about the gossip of a noble, ancient family in the Sacred Twenty- Eight shattering because of an impulsive young son. No one cares about the Meadowes drama because a squib has ruined their magical bloodline. 

Said squib still knows when her daughter is in danger. Dorcas and her mum had been at miserable odds for weeks until Dorcas hadn’t been able to take it anymore. She’d made the mistake of telling her parents about the war and her own plans to fight in it, and her mum had wrapped a vicelike grip around her through those words she spat:  _ No daughter of mine is going to war. I didn’t raise someone so stupid and ignorant to throw themself into the face of death. _

Dorcas had made an effort. Dorcas doesn’t give up on anything that easily, except her mum’s insults had only worsened once it became apparent that there was no changing her daughter’s mind. Dorcas had told her parents that staying out of it meant choosing a side, and her parents had told her that she was out of her depth. It had been nighttime when Dorcas left. She’d spent all day shut up in her room and packing. She had left quietly and with no fuss.

A letter on the kitchen table telling them that she loved them and she’d be safe and she would like to keep in touch, if they would too. That she won’t be their daughter anymore if that’s the price to pay for doing what is right. 

The McKinnons had taken her in with hardly any discussion. Dorcas had become their fifth child if only for a few weeks, and it’s only weird to think about if she considers Marlene a sister, which she doesn’t. Thank god. 

So Marlene had turned down an entire future of professional Quidditch in order to fight instead. An entire future and that’s it. Dorcas had abandoned her family in order to fight instead. An entire family and that’s it.

They sit across from each other on the Hogwarts Express and know that it’s the last time.

Some things are the same but others are so strangely different. For example: Lily Evans is Head Girl and it had come as a surprise to none of her friends, but there are whispers throughout the carriages and dark looks in the hallways and they haven’t even reached Hogwarts yet. 1977 and a Muggleborn has been made Head Girl while a blood traitor with bubbles for brains will be Head Boy right alongside her.

Said blood traitor is apparently dating Lily Evans, much to the surprise of literally everyone who has ever met the two of them. The thing is, despite Lily’s clear protests, Dorcas has always liked James. Yeah, he’s sort of arrogant but he’s got a wicked sense of humor and seems to have his morals in check, which is more than Dorcas can say for some people. 

Personally, Dorcas thinks that Lily had been playing hard to get ever since she broke up with Hyatt, who looks and acts  _ quite  _ like James Potter, just by the way. James would go around just trying to make genuine conversation with Lily, and she would snap and shout at him in ways that Dorcas found frankly embarrassing and trust her, she loves Lily, but her treatment of poor Potter had only been beating around the bush. 

Moira and Marlene had to pay up when the news finally went around, as the four Gryffindor girls plus Dorcas had been betting money on whether the two of them would get together before they finished school. Dorcas and Mary are both quite pleased with the way things turned out. 

Mary, as it happens, has not joined them on their final ride to Hogwarts and instead is off snogging Danny. She’d confessed that she’s planning on breaking up with him at some point in seventh year to make the loss a bit more bearable, and no one argues with her. The carriage is in fact filled with people that Dorcas had not expected to join her on her final ride to the castle, especially not when she was a first year.

Marlene across from her, and Peter next to Marlene. Sirius and Benjy sit next to Dorcas. Remus, Lily, and James are all at their Prefect meeting. In first year, Dorcas hadn’t known any of them. She’d known Sirius because he was a Black and James only by association. When Lily had started talking to her in Defense class during second year, Dorcas had been happier than anything. She had found fast friends in the Gryffindors.

And the Hufflepuffs are nice, of  _ course  _ they are, they’re Hufflepuffs! Caradoc had been one of Dorcas’s favorites, and now he’s gone. Of course there’s Kingsley and Emmeline, and good old Betsy, who Peter has allegedly started dating although Dorcas is going to require a bit of proof on that one. 

Sirius is busy practicing wordless magic. A chocolate frog is levitating the length of their car, swirling loop-the-loops in the air, and it bumps Dorcas on the nose. It bumps her again. Dorcas bites its head off.

“Dorcas!”

“What? You were the one hitting me with it!” The headless frog falls into Dorcas’s lap as Sirius’s concentration breaks. She picks up the rest of it, chews and swallows. Sirius sighs. 

“Got another, Peter?”

“That was my last.”

“Thanks, Dorcas.” His tone is sarcastic. Marlene, across from her, has fallen asleep with her head against the window. Dorcas is left alone in the company of a bunch of immature boys. One of them, curled into the corner, says:

“Who else is thinking of just skipping seventh year altogether?” 

“Not me,” Sirius says. There are people shouting at each other farther down the train and Benjy sighs. He’s quiet in his mixture of grief and depression. And he’s shaved his head, which speaks more than words can. Benjy fucking Fenwick is just Benjy Fenwick, now, plain and boring.

“I don’t want to do it anymore, I’m tired.”

“That’s a poor attitude when the year hasn’t even started!” Dorcas’s voice sounds overly cheerful. Everyone in the carriage stares at her. Sirius is about to say something when there’s a loud bang from further down the train and he leaps to his feet, while Marlene startles awake.

“What’s-?” She asks, and is cut off when Remus appears in the doorway looking incredibly frazzled. He opens the door and shuts it behind him.

“Fuck,” He says. “I fucking hate this year already.”

**m**

“This is a piss poor idea, Remus.” 

“To be honest, I’m done caring.” A late summer rain breezes down on top of them but does nothing to dull Marlene’s wandlight as she nervously follows Remus across the grounds.

This is a gesture very characteristic of Remus Lupin, skipping the Welcoming Feast in order to smoke a joint behind the greenhouses. He’d gone on a long rant about kids fighting on the train and when he at last had been appropriately pacified by Sirius and Marlene herself, he had become all moody. The train ride had not been very fun, but Dorcas had insisted on seeing the scorch mark left by whatever Slytherin had thought it a good idea to go around casting curses before school had even started.

Upon their arrival at school, Remus had expressed a desire to get high once inside the carriage leading them up to the castle. His face had been rather pale, and he kept glancing at the front of the carriage, pulled by nothing at all. Marlene knows better, they all do. Seventh years understand that Thestrals pull those carriages and it’s a sad thing, honestly, to know that Remus can see them. 

No one had taken him up on his offer to smoke, not even Sirius or Benjy, and Remus had said something about how  _ Caradoc _ would have gone and smoked with him; Benjy had looked up angrily and Sirius had sighed, so Marlene took it upon herself to smoke a charity-joint with Remus. 

He calms down with some weed in him. 

They smoke standing up because the grass is damp with rain. The air is heavy with the scent of humid rain, thunder on the horizon, earth and grass. Marlene can almost taste the magic radiating out of the Dark Forest. Sharp on her tongue like blood. Remus drops the roach into the grass, pushes his hands back through his hair.

“Would you like to go down to the Quidditch pitch and have a scream with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Remus grins at her, and they set off. Two small silhouettes in the rain, walking down the sloping hill to the pitch. Marlene can see the goalposts towering above them in the darkness, and she starts to run. It takes a moment for Remus to follow and she wins their non-race by a landslide, but.

The pounding of her feet, her heart hammering against her chest, the rain soaking her hair and streaking her cheeks. Remus has to catch his breath and cough hoarsely, spit, cough, gasp, heave for breath.  _ You’re really out of shape, huh? _ He looks at her through tearstained, glazed eyes and still manages to smile.  _ It’s only the chronic bronchitis, Marlene.  _ She has no idea what he’s talking about. Muggle stuff.

They tilt their heads back and scream. 

“Aaaaaaah!” Remus screams. “ _ Aaaaargh _ !” 

Marlene howls just as loud. Their voices tear through the nighttime and echo across the dark, empty pitch. They face away from the castle. Remus bends over, arms wrapped around his middle, and he coughs towards the ground. Marlene screams again. Remus does too. 

The release of anxiety through standing here and screaming is swiftly ended by an unfamiliar voice that asks: “What in god’s name do you two think you’re doing?” Marlene starts laughing and doesn’t stop as she turns to see who has asked.

The woman’s maroon robes are dry so she must have cast a drying sort of charm over her. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. Remus’s screaming coughs drift away into nothing, and they face off against this stranger.

Marlene is high and is undergoing some strange disregard for authority. “Who’s asking?”

The woman doesn’t reply and instead asks, “Shouldn’t you be at the Welcoming Feast?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Well!” Remus says, sounding very dry and indifferent in a way that suggests trouble, “Shouldn’t  _ you  _ be at the Welcoming Feast?” Marlene laughs, quieter, and moves closer to Remus.

“Is that a Prefect badge?”

“Yes.” Defensive. Remus crosses his arms, now, too but he tilts his chin up. 

“What year are you?”

“Seventh?”

“That’s a question?”

“Why are you harassing us?” Remus snaps. “We’re only minding our own business.”

“You’re standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and screaming.” Marlene giggles again and looks down at her shoes. The woman tells them to get back to the castle, and both of them have the good sense not to argue. Remus starts laughing, too, as they stumble back into the castle. Arriving for the last time, but they’re high and not sentimental enough to realize that. Their wet shoes trek twin footprints of mud inside as they walk to the Great Hall. 

It is beaming with golden light. A million candles float in the air and Marlene feels more starstruck than ever, as though finally realizing that this is her last first entrance to the Great Hall, and it’s so sensitive and stupid. Last Halloween at Hogwarts, last Valentines’, last time in that classroom or sitting at this table in the library. It all will happen one last time. Marlene can’t understand why Benjy would want to miss it. 

The sorting has already happened. Everyone is busy eating and talking, and Marlene and Remus’s entrance goes relatively unnoticed except for the sharp, beady glare of McGonagall from up at the staff table. 

“Laser beam eyes,” Remus whispers to her. “Check for holes in my robes?” Marlene gives his rumpled self a quick once over. 

“You’re good.”

“Cheers.” He looks at her, too, up and down and then grins. “You are too. Safe for now!” They go and sit down after that. Everyone asks where they’ve been, and neither of them respond with the truth. Everytime Remus looks at her, Marlene laughs. His face is glowing and grinning and Marlene briefly remembers her strange, young blooded crush on him. He  _ is _ handsome. Just not as handsome as Dorcas Meadowes, and that’s a fact.

The feast is about the most delicious thing that Marlene’s ever eaten. In her high, giddy, dazed-brain state, she doesn’t even take the time to look up at the staff table and note the empty chair that must belong to whatever woman accosted them on the pitch. That’s the odd thing about getting high- the tendency to forget about important happenings.

Marlene and Remus had been screaming their lungs out on the Quidditch pitch, been shouted at by a random unidentified woman, and then ran back to the Great Hall in the rain, yet the only thing on their minds is how  _ good  _ the food is. 

Well, anyway. Marlene gets the shock of her life on Tuesday afternoon when she walks into the Defense classroom, wondering who Number 7 will be. Number 7 turns out to be a strict looking woman in maroon robes, who makes eye contact with Marlene almost immediately upon her entrance.

“Shit.” Marlene turns around and immediately crashes into Remus, who has gone rather pale faced. “Shit!” 

“I can’t believe our fucking luck,” is all Remus has to say before he drops down into a desk near the back of the classroom. The frightening woman introduces herself as Professor Emma Robinson, and she is an Auror (fully fledged, not like young Gideon Prewett or, god forbid, Caradoc Dearborn stumbling blindly through Auror training), and she is completely frightening. 

“The world has become a very dangerous place,” Professor Robinson explains to them, “Especially as of recent. Ordinarily, in your seventh year, we would continue learning about Dark Creatures, particularly the more rare ones. The Lethifold, Chimaera, Nogtail, and so on. Can anyone name what any of these creatures are?”

A few hands go up, and Robinson gets definitions for all three creatures.

“As it seems, this class already has a good grasp on Dark Creatures. That is why I will be focusing our curriculum on spellwork this year. We will do some review in September, move onto the Unforgivables in October, and then work on Shield Charms and Counter-Spells until your holiday break…” She continues laying out their lesson plan while Dorcas writes in the margins of Marlene’s parchment:

_ A little dramatic, isn’t she? _

Marlene glances sidelong at her, but Dorcas has redirected her attention to the front of the room. Marlene scribbles back:

_ I’m sure Dumbledore hired her to get us all prepared for what’s happening. Defending ourselves and everything. _

_ I bet she’ll have the first years at it too! _

_ Got to start them young! I don’t mind it, though. _

_ You think she’s going to teach us the Unforgivables? _

_ I’m okay to watch as long as she doesn’t ask for any practice volunteers.  _

Dorcas chuckles out loud and pushes the parchment back onto Marlene’s side of the desk. Robinson has moved on to lecturing them about their knowledge of Shield Charms, but her eyes once again fix on Marlene and she lowers her head to avoid the sharp gaze. It’s after class when Marlene is finally subject to some sort of punishment, but at least she doesn’t do it alone. 

“Ms. McKinnon, Mr. Lupin, may I have a word?” Everyone else trails out of the classroom while Remus and Marlene hesitantly approach Robinson at the front of the room. She regards them with disdain, or the look Marlene would adopt upon finding a slug or something similar stuck to the bottom of her shoe. 

Marlene had told James that she would help him with organizing a Quidditch practice schedule after a brief warm-up down on the pitch, and she can’t help but fear that whatever Robinson has to say will make them late.

“To be perfectly honest, I am already disappointed in the both of you. Especially you, Ms. McKinnon, passing notes during class.” Marlene’s face heats up. Remus glances at her momentarily. “Professor Dumbledore has told me about students expressing their desire to join his Order and fight in the resistance effort, but it has become clear to me that you two are not taking this seriously.”

“Excuse me, professor, but I feel as though you haven’t been given an adequate display of our abilities,” Remus tells her in his Prefect voice. Marlene can already tell this is a bad idea. 

“Just my point, Mr. Lupin. From what I’ve seen of you, I am less than impressed. Smoking marijuana, missing the Welcoming Feast, and not paying attention in classes. You are a Prefect, Lupin, and I expected more from you. The both of you.” She frowns at them. “I will be keeping a close eye on you,  _ all  _ of you. Don’t expect to be inducted into the Order unless you can behave yourselves in school. We are not letting you fight if you continue to act like children.” 

Remus is glaring at her with a strong heat in his eyes. Marlene looks at the floor. Neither of them apologize. 

“You may leave, Lupin, McKinnon. I expect better of you.” Remus looks mutinous as they leave, but he doesn’t say anything about Robinson as they walk down the hall. Marlene marvels at how well he keeps his temper inside when he can look  _ so  _ angry just with a flash of the eyes and a tightness of the lip.

Marlene is headed to the pitch, and Remus seems a bit lost.

“I’m sorry,” He tells her as they reach the huge doors. “You didn’t deserve to be shouted at.”

“Neither did you.”

“Well.” Remus scratches at his hair. “I’m a bit of a troublemaker.”

“It’s just all the weed, I think. You could cut down.”

“But do I really want to?” Remus’s scarred face is teasing. He smiles. “Go meet James, alright? I’ll see you for dinner.”

“Bye!” Marlene rushes down to the Quidditch pitch. The September air is still summer-warm, but the crisp of autumn has breached the air. Marlene feels as though it will be a hard winter. Blue sky, green grass, and the wind blowing at the house banners set up around the pitch. James Potter is whipping about the pitch like a madman, apparently testing the speed limits of his broom. 

They practice for a while but James has other things on his mind. The whole way back up to the castle, he talks to her about the positions that need more work and how Stephen Speight played a truly awful season last year and cannot be let back onto the team at any cost.

“I can’t do it.” James finally groans as he collapses onto a sofa into the common room. Marlene sits down next to him with a little more grace. 

“Can’t do what, Mr. Dramatic?”

“Can’t be Head Boy  _ and  _ Quidditch captain. It’s too much! How is one person supposed to have that many responsibilities at once?”

“I dunno, planning and organization?” Marlene regards him sarcastically and then curiously; she  _ had  _ been wondering how James was going to balance basically being next in line to McGonagall as he’s in charge of everything related to Gryffindor. His hair is sticking up at all angles from running his hands through it, and he looks exhausted. It’s only the second week of school.

James makes a wordless wailing noise that earns him an elbow to the side from Marlene.

“Stop whining, Potter, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Help me? Please? Can you help with Quidditch?” 

“Yes, I’m better than you, of course I can help!”

“That’s debatable!”

Some evil little prideful creature inside Marlene snaps, and she says something she shouldn’t in the phrase: “The Appleby  _ Arrows _ didn’t think so!”

“Whoa there, back up, slow down!  _ What _ ?” 

“They offered me a trial position as beater!” The words burst out of Marlene’s mouth before she has a chance to stop them, and she reflexively claps her hands over her mouth while James stares at her, shocked. 

Marlene is not a vain person but does hold a personal belief that she might very well be the best player on the Gryffindor Quidditch team; James is good but Marlene’s skills as a beater have become the stuff of legend and anyways, she had dreamed of being the youngest female player on any given Quidditch team, Appleby Arrows included. 

“And what did you say?!”

“What would you have said?” Marlene fires back. James opens his mouth, closes it again, and then crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Shit.” James’s face flickers oddly. Something unfortunately like sympathy shines on his face. “Shit, Marlene, I’m sorry. After this is all over, you’ll get your shot.”

“I know.” There’s a heavy pause between them in which a lump in Marlene’s throat reminds her of that awful night after she posted her response to the team’s manager; how she had lain in bed and cried in this small funeral for a lost future. She had felt childish and weak: crying over something as simple as a sport. 

It’s more than that to her, and it is to James too. He’s changed the topic rather smoothly and is now discussing which practices he’s going to have to miss for Prefect meetings. 

“You can run the ones on Tuesday nights, okay? And then you can head off beater practice on Wednesdays, too. Next week I’ve got to meet with McGonagall during morning Sunday practice, so can you take that one?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“You’re a savior, Marlene, thank you.”

“Of course.” James smiles at her and Marlene can only smile back. Deep down, she does not want to lead practices but still be regarded as any old beater while James gets all the credit for leading the team, but she doesn’t want to bring it up with him. If there’s anything that Marlene hates, it’s confrontation. So she sits quiet and docile in the warm September light of the common room and keeps her mouth shut. The way people like her best. 


	102. [YR 7] Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for vomiting and some goryish things
> 
> remus gets pretty sick for a period of time because i feel like lycanthrophy influences him in more ways than just the full moons. like it's a chronic illness but i feel like there's definitely additional physical effects of it.

_ a man who’s pure of heart and says his prayers by night may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright _

**r**

Blood is splattered all over the toilet bowl that Remus is crouched over, and he swears out loud as blood drips over his lips like spit or vomit; thick, wet, warm, and this even has that salty iron taste of blood and awful things. Remus’s throat feels as though someone has rubbed it raw with sandpaper and he spits again into the toilet. Blood drips down his chin and he feels inhuman.

“Are you alright in there?” Someone, presumably the mirror, asks.

“Yes, fine.” Remus’s voice comes out as a hoarse rasp. 

“You sound terrible.”

“Just a bit of a cough.”

“Understatement of the century, if you ask me.” 

“ _ Fuck _ .” Remus needs a drink of water. 

The full moon is tomorrow night and he’s spent most of today rushing to the bathroom in between lessons to either throw up or do a similar motion of coughing up blood. He’d been coughing heavily into his sleeve all day long, but things had reached a breaking point when small red droplets of blood had become part of the mix, and so he retreated to the bathroom after Charms class to cough into somewhere a little cleaner than the sleeve of his robes.

His ears are ringing. Louder and quieter, but ringing all the same. When he stands, he sees stars and his head spins. Remus staggers out of the stall and hardly even looks at the person standing at the sink, applying mascara, for he has shoved his head under the faucet and starts gulping down water. It is cold and smooth, deliciously liquid. His raw throat is soothed only momentarily, for he’s decided to look up and see who has been talking to him in the bathroom, and it’s really not who he expected.

“Dorcas- jesus! What the hell are you doing in here?” Only about half the words out of his mouth are audible because Remus has lost his voice, and Dorcas continues applying her makeup while her dark eyes fix on Remus’s through the mirror. 

“Fixing my makeup, the girls’ bathroom is full of batty bitches with a penchant for drama and their hearts set on  _ suicide  _ by the end of the year, because I’ll be their cause of death and I won’t even leave exit wounds, and hey, Remus, you’re covered in blood.”

“Yeah.” Remus ducks his head back towards the sink and splashes his pale face with water. The ringing has lessened. Only now he feels on the verge of collapse. He looks to have a beard of dried blood crusted around his mouth, and some fresh stuff all red and slick on his lips.

“It’s not the best look for you.” Remus starts rubbing water all over his chin while Dorcas continues. “I thought you were just ill, but you’re  _ really  _ ill.”

“I’ve got bronchitis, Pomfrey says.”

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“What?”

“You’re the worst half-blood out there, Lupin.” Remus has heard this phrase before, only from Marlene and it had been years ago, but it still makes him feel odd and perplexed. “You need antibiotics. To cure it.”

“Oh.”

“Though quitting smoking would help too, I’m sure.” Dorcas pushes herself back off of the sink and finally turns to look at Remus. Her eyelashes are very dark with thick black mascara. She smiles and although she’s trying for humor to make their interaction less dire, Remus can see that worried sympathy creeping in her eyes. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be better with some antibiotics in me.” Dorcas does not smile. “My immune system’s shite, we all know it. Did Sirius send you?”

“I told you, I was going to slaughter those girls in the bathroom.” A younger Ravenclaw has walked into the bathroom and evidently picks up on the tail end of Dorcas’s sentence; his eyes widen and he looks back and forth from scruffy, bloodstained Remus to mutinous Dorcas (standing in the boy’s bathroom), and then quickly shuts himself in a stall. 

“What time is it?”

“We’ve got lunch. You should go to the hospital wing, mate.” Dorcas has started to leave the bathroom and Remus wipes his face again just to make sure all the blood is cleaned off before he follows her. “And write your dad, honestly, if you’re coughing up blood then you really need help.”

“Yeah, yeah, can you just not tell anyone? I don’t need everyone worrying after me.” Dorcas regards him with quirked eyebrows.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great, thanks. I’m, er, I’ll go to the hospital wing.” Remus has no intent on going to the hospital wing. “Good luck not murdering your classmates, I’ll see you later.”

“Feel better, Lupin!” Remus is also not feeling better. It would probably be ridiculous to blame all of his illnesses on Marc Bolan’s untimely death last week, but it sort of fucking sucked to hear about it through Mary’s radio news. Family dying is one thing, but there’s something even more frightening when your idols start dropping too.

Remus is still lightheaded and walks very slowly not towards the hospital wing but upstairs, towards the Defense classroom. He falls through a trick step in the stairs and ends up sprawled on the staircase, lacking the energy to even swear about it. People walk by him with no means of helping him up, and he staggers back to his feet only to be rendered incomprehensibly dizzy by the shuddering motion of the moving staircase.

Another wave of nausea crawls up his throat: thick, hot, choking. Remus has to run, actually  _ run,  _ to make it to another bathroom in time to not puke all over himself. And he throws up a great amount of water and spit and acid, and moans despairingly as he sits on the bathroom floor with his head in his hands.  _ Fuck.  _ The nausea is unrelenting and he should have gone to the hospital wing after all.

His thesis and outline for his final essay are due this week, and he had been on his way to turn them in to Robinson who doesn’t even  _ know  _ that she’s his advisor because Professor Wallace had obviously not found it in himself to come back and teach a second year, even though he had approved Remus’s topic. Remus  _ needs  _ to talk to Robinson today so he can make the appropriate adjustments to his topic if she asks him to. He has to stay on top of his work.

The stress and anxiety just makes him feel worse. He keeps his head in his hands and wonders what will happen if he doesn’t get to speak to her today. He won’t have the energy to write tomorrow, and the day after will be spent recovering. That means he either won’t speak to her or won’t get to work until Friday, and he needs to talk to Pomfrey about his essay as well for research, plus  _ all  _ of the classwork for other classes. 

Fuck. He has to go find Robinson right now if he wants to have any hope of completing all of his classwork and organizing his essay the way he wants it by Monday. But Remus is going to throw up if he tries to move. Any movement at all brings his nausea back full force, and the best he can get is sitting here on the floor.

Unless he drinks a nausea potion. And then he’ll be okay, except he very well can’t walk down to the hospital wing in his current condition. He’s trapped in some bathroom, drenched in sweat with blood on his tongue and a burning in his throat. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ He fucking  _ hates  _ being a werewolf. Remus lets out a juddering sigh. He needs help. He wishes he had one of Sirius or James’s mirrors so he could get them to bring him a potion, but there’s no such luck. 

Remus gives himself ten minutes to pull himself together. These ten minutes consist of countless breathing exercises, another brief bout of vomiting, and finally, unwillingly, pulling himself to his feet. He conjures a bin bag to carry with him in case he can’t make it to a bathroom before arriving at the Hospital Wing, and sets off through the school feeling like some pathetic creature.

Madam Pomfrey gives him a few potions, one to take later and two more for tomorrow.

“The nausea usually isn’t this bad, is it?” She asks worriedly.

“It always depends,” Remus tells her after choking down the potion, “But this helps. Thanks so much. I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Remus, it might be better to get some rest-”

“I’ve actually got my schedule all cleared on Saturday for resting, so I’ll try it then. Bye!” And Remus rushes out of the hospital wing and jogs through the castle back up to the Defense room, which was a terrible idea as he has to heave for breath once arrived and spends about five minutes coughing while simultaneously trying to catch his breath. He thinks that he’s seventeen and already fucked his lungs beyond any imaginable capacity. Doubtful that antibiotics could reverse fiveish years of constant smoking and twelveish years of chronic lycanthropy. 

Remus is then subject to about a half hour of being ridiculed by Professor Robinson, who has exceedingly high expectations from him that Remus is defiantly set to live up to. 

“So, what,” Robinson asks from behind her desk, “What’s your final goal?”

“Publishing it anonymously.”

“Through who?”

“Independently.” Robinson squints at him. Remus has decided upon the awful idea of writing a paper about medical and sociocultural approaches to curing lycanthropy, providing support for those affected by it, and breaking down barriers of discrimination and restriction.

“Lupin, your ideas are completely radical. It’s going to be hard to get anyone to listen.”

“I’ll publish it independently, I told you. People can read it if they want to. It’s genuinely academic, professor. You have the outline there yourself. It’s unbiased.”

“It’s incredibly biased, because it’s written by a werewolf.”

“No one’s going to know that, though, it’s all in third person. And I’m not going to use the term werewolf in the entire paper, you know. It has negative implications.” Robinson glances up at him as though to tell if he’s joking, and he’s not. Hardly ever is when it comes to these sorts of things. She sighs.

“Your outline is well done and comprehensive, Lupin. You obviously know what you’re talking about. You can go ahead with the essay, but having it taken seriously in an academic setting is another thing entirely, and I cannot promise that it will be well regarded or even brought to light at all.”

“I understand.” She nods at him. “And, erm. The full moon is tomorrow, so I might not be present for class on Thursday.” Robinson continues to frown at him. “... If that’s alright. I’ll try to make it, though.”

“Thank you for telling me. You’ll be excused if you can’t attend.”

“Brilliant, thank you.” When their meeting finally ends, Remus goes and lies down on a bench in the hallway until double Divination starts at two. He drags himself to Herbology and Charms the next morning and spends the afternoon sick in bed. The full moon brings relief as he can finally release all of his frustration and illness through the violent transformation. And he can run fine as a wolf. No puking blood after a few steps too fast.

It’s almost right away that they leave the Shack. Moony is anxious to run free and Padfoot and Prongs are only happy to provide. The nighttime is dark, the Forbidden Forest darker. 

The forest is a dark green. You can’t see it anywhere else, a color like that, like a shade of pine mixed with black. What else matches that shade of dark, heavy green that draws you in and swallows you whole? There is truly nothing like it. The soft blanket of pine needles softening hard dirt, and the smell of it in the air and all around you; nature mixed with Dark Magic.

Yellow eyes glow from the darkness like two twin coins. Shining golden but they wouldn’t get you far in a shop. More and more of them, headlights blinking on and off. Moony always manages to lose Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail as soon as the wolves find him and it’s poetic in that way, he’s lost but he’s not alone.

They take him.

Remus’s breaths burn in his lungs as he sprints through the trees and they blur past him, long legs loping and his mouth open to breathe that clean yet heavy air, drinking in the forest smells. Animals. Warm blood pulsing under their tender skin and Remus hasn’t eaten in days, he’s so hungry, and he kills a rabbit, a small deer, and he shares the deer with another wolf. 

The fur gets caught in their teeth and the meat around the shoulders and bones is a bit stringy, but they wolf it down anyways. The stomach is good, tender and juicy. They walk farther south and to the edge of the forest. Man made lights inside small houses glimmer in the distance. The leader of their pack hesitates at the edge of the treeline as if thinking it over.

Remus doesn’t think. He can smell the humans as clear as anything. There’s the smell of blood, like the type that Remus had been throwing up days ago as he retched his throat raw. Meat, blood, skin. His stomach growls. He follows behind the other wolves. They breach the treeline; Hogsmeade is theirs for the taking.

**a**

Something white and bright glows softly in Albus Dumbledore’s room. Not the sun, nor the false illumination of something like a nightlight. The light fills his room entirely, fueled by happiness and the best memories in the world. Albus sits up in bed, squinting his eyes against the light, and sees a goat made out of light standing at the foot of his bed.

“Werewolf attacks in Hogsmeade,” The goat says and his voice belongs to Albus’s younger brother Aberforth, “Come quickly.” The sun is rising as a warm glow over the horizon by the time Albus arrives in Hogsmeade and the whole village has streamed onto the streets in a loud panic. 

Those who see Albus latch onto him with desire for answers and Albus doesn’t even have the facts; he pushes through the crowd to find his brother to fill him in. Aberforth had been sleeping in his flat above the Hog’s Head and had heard the screams. Three families attacked, three people in St. Mungo’s and three more dead. Albus is thinking the same question that everyone is asking:  _ Are these attacks associated with You-Know-Who? Did he order them? Are we targets? _

There is nothing to be done now, anyways, not that Albus can see. The Aurors have either taken care of the families or stalked off into the forest to try to find those culprits that Albus is sure have Apparated away once the sun rose and they changed back to people with some sort of conscience. 

And besides, there’s a werewolf that Albus can place who needs his help. 

He Apparates to the Whomping Willow and the tree is so surprised by his sudden arrival that it doesn’t start swinging until after he’s touched the knot on the base. Albus crouches down to fit into the tunnel without knocking off his hat, and he starts down the dark passageway only to be surprised by a huge black dog that comes bounding down the tunnel. Its pink tongue lolls in its mouth, and it skitters to an unsteady halt upon seeing Albus.

Albus looks at the dog, who barks at him. 

“Hello there. What are you doing here?” The dog barks even louder, but he’s not happy to see Albus. He bares his teeth and snarls. “I’m sorry, should I not be here?”

The dog barks again, louder, jumping and snarling at Albus. He turns, and from the darkness, appears a stag. There are dark circles around his eyes, literally- dark black marks in suspicious shapes of spectacles. The stag and Albus stare at each other for a good while. It is Albus who finally presses himself against the wall of the tunnel and lets the stag pass. The stag and dog walk out of the tunnel while Albus wonders intently about the sheer illegal genius of Sirius Black and James Potter.

Upstairs, Remus Lupin is lying in bed and looking suspiciously as though he had been tucked in; not in a way that any stag or dog could have done with clumsy hooves or paws. Remus’s face is grey and his breathing shallow. He does not have the face of a murderer or a bloodthirsty beast, he has the face of a seventeen year old boy who is wise beyond his years and it’s not his fault, none of it.

Albus wakes him gently, speaking his name softly and shaking at his shoulder. Remus wakes in a jerky motion, flinching back and gasping at the sight of Albus. 

“Good morning, Remus, how are you feeling?” Remus sits up and clutches the blankets to his chest. His breaths are quick and anxious and Albus can see his hazel eyes widen as he remembers the night before, flashes of whatever memories are left over, and he begins talking.

“Professor-sir- I didn’t, please, you have to know, I didn’t-”

“I know-”

“I didn’t bite any of them, I  _ swear,  _ I didn’t touch them, I didn’t hurt anyone-”

“ _ Remus,  _ I understand you and I believe you.” 

“Then why are you here?!” Remus’s voice is unbelievably hoarse and he tries to clear his throat unsuccessfully, and then begins to cough. The coughs catch in his throat and shake his whole body. 

“Remus, I am here because I need to talk to you about last night. I will wait for you downstairs, and then we can go to my office. Do you have any wounds that need healing?” Remus shakes his head, unable to reply as he’s still coughing, and Albus nods and leaves the bedroom, leaving Remus to cough and cough and cough behind him. Albus tries not to look around the Shack. He hasn’t been inside in all of seven years, and the Shack has suffered considerable destruction since 1971.

The stairs are half broken as Albus takes care to walk down them, and he waits patiently for Remus to collect himself. In a few moments, the boy is limping down the same stairs in his rumpled robes, looking dead on his feet. Neither of them speak to each other as they trudge through the tunnel. When it opens up and they are left in the crisp September sunshine, Remus breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

The fresh air might help, but he looks a million times worse as he sits across the desk from Albus in his office. Albus had opened the windows and now places a cup of tea down in front of Remus, who thanks him but does not touch the cup. His face is more white than grey, now, and his eyes are wide with fear.

He may be six years older than when he started Hogwarts but Albus can still see the frightened eleven year old boy who he once was; Remus sitting on the floor of his home, playing Gobstones with Albus on his birthday, saying  _ Daddy says I’m a monster so you wouldn’t want me at school  _ and has now internalized those beliefs, not about his father any longer but simply  _ I am a monster so you don’t want me. _

Or how a thirteen year old Remus had tried taking his own life and then apologized to Albus, not wanting to be thought of as ungrateful. 

“You remember some of what happened last night.” Albus begins. Remus nods warily.

“Some.” It seems that there’s much more to say, but Remus has the good sense to keep the rest of the story to himself. Albus has to drag it out of him piece by piece; leaving the Shack, the wolf pack, the prior hunts, and last night, going into Hogsmeade. 

“I went back, when they went into houses, I went back to the forest. You can put me under Veritaserum, you can take my memories, but I swear, professor, I  _ promise-” _

“I believe you, Remus, I don’t think that you hurt any of those people.”

“How many? How many were hurt?”

“Three are injured and in hospital, and three are dead.” Remus sits very quietly. He stares down into his cup full of tea and looks positively haunted. “It wasn’t your fault, Remus. You could not have stopped them.” Remus doesn’t reply. “Remus, how many times have you hunted with the pack on full moons?” His face is white and ashamed. “Maybe we should back up. How long have you been leaving the Shack for?”

Remus’s silence is a tribute to his loyalty.

“Remus, I met some… curious animals on my way through the tunnel this morning. I understand that they have been helping you.” Remus looks up now, his expression still coldly wary, but there is more interest. “Their actions may be illegal, but they are selflessly helping a friend in need, and for that, I can see no fault. However, they have been helping you leave the Shack, and that puts you, and others, in danger.”

“We only started leaving last year. We would just run in the forest and hunt sometimes. Like, rabbits or deer. That’s it.”

“And the pack?”

“...”

“Remus, please be open with me about this.”

“The pack showed up in March. It was around my birthday. Dunno why they showed up, but they did. And it made me feel a lot better. To be with them. I felt free.” 

“So you just spent the night with them? Hunting, running?” Remus nods. “Remus, have you considered that these werewolves might be here on orders given by Voldemort?” An agitated shrug. “Have you ever met with them at a time other than the full moon?”

Now, he looks defensive. “What? No!”

“Would you be willing to?” 

And although there had been six casualties despite Remus’s innocence, this had been good news to Albus. The werewolves in the forest know who Remus is and only as a werewolf looking for an out, rather than an in. It is the perfect setup for what Albus needs. 

“To do what?” Remus’s question is cagey.

“To meet with them. If you could… pretend. Be open, naive, questioning. Tell them you want to join them.”

“Why?”

“So we can have information.” 

Something seems to click in Remus’s head, and he finally takes a sip of the tea that must have gone cold by now. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks about it. He’s quiet for a long while. 

Finally, he just says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll do it. If it helps, if it’s for you. For the Order. I’ll do it.”


	103. [YR 7] Run Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, this chapter hurts. pobrecito remus. cw for self harm
> 
> lyric is from 'troublemaker doppelgänger' by lucy dacus which is an amaazing song

_ no child is born knowing there’s an ugly or evil thing  _

**d**

Same old fucking story and excuse the language, but Dorcas doesn’t know what the point is anymore, especially when the werewolves have decided that the population of Hogsmeade is as tasty as any other. Dorcas leaves breakfast early because everyone’s panicked words are turning her stomach, and with the way Emmeline Vance is carrying on about it, it sounds as though  _ she’d  _ been bitten and not those three people in St. Mungo’s probably wishing they were dead.

Dorcas is sick of hearing these awful pieces of news and doing nothing about it. She feels broken and powerless. Her anger heats up her body and is sharp, seething. Magic crackles from her and she’s grateful that she has History of Magic first thing, because if she were set to cast any spells, they would be ten times too strong and Dorcas doesn’t want to see those effects. 

Dorcas isn’t stupid, despite the fact that the Sorting Hat had never for an instant considered putting her into Ravenclaw, and she finally puts two and two together when Remus isn’t in class all day long, not even Defense at the end of the day, which is his best subject. 

She remembers him with blood all over his face and tears in his eyes from all the coughing, weak.  _ My immune system’s shite, we all know it.  _ Year after year, spending days in the hospital wing and by god his face was always so pale as though he was on the brink of something awful. 

Not a werewolf. Why does he have to be a werewolf? Automatically, Dorcas sees Remus as a different person. He is no longer the cheeky Prefect who smokes hand rolled fags and is passionate about a few things in life, those being literature, weed, and rock n’ roll. Remus Lupin is a werewolf and simultaneously cannot be a werewolf. Yet there is no way that he could be anything else.

Those scars have sliced up his skin ever since first year. Back when Dorcas didn’t know him, first year, she had been afraid of him. He had been pale but wide eyed, and his face had been cut into pieces by these thick ugly scars. They have doubled, tripled, quadrupled and so on as the years have worn on and Dorcas always wondered why but never asked. He’d given a good number of them to himself, because she knows how it looks when you’ve neatly slashed up your skin in a pretty little row just to make it all go away for a little while, but.

Scars on his face, scars on his arms and legs and shoulders, chest, back, everywhere. The swimming pool over summer holidays. It had all been so clear, almost fucking  _ teasing  _ the way he laid it out in front of all of them. She had been too naive, too ignorant to even imagine that this was the case. 

Dorcas had never wanted to imagine that one of her best friends was a Dark Creature and  _ fuck,  _ what is she supposed to do about it now? And who else knows, and who else has been keeping this secret? Dumbledore, James, Sirius, Peter? It makes Dorcas sick to think that they have kept him safe for all this time. His kind are out there attacking people,  _ killing  _ people, and oh  _ shit-  _ what if  _ Remus  _ had hurt those people in Hogsmeade last night?

The panic and raw fear comes quickly and all of a sudden. Dorcas, long since having known the password to the Gryffindor common room, is granted entrance as usual and she scrambles through the portrait hole that evening set on having someone either confirm or deny this fear.

Sirius Black is first in her line of vision and so she accosts him first. “Sirius, I need to talk to you.” He looks up. There is something wrong on his face, something tired and drawn and worried. “About Remus.” 

For once, he doesn’t make a joke or try to distract from the topic of discussion. Simply, all he has to say is: “No, I can’t.”

“Sirius-”

“Not something I can discuss.”

“I need- I don’t  _ understand _ .” Her voice is desperate and she is so terribly afraid. How could this be? How could Remus even be  _ allowed  _ at school? “Sirius, please.”

Sirius looks genuinely stricken; upset. “Don’t ask me about it, Dorcas, I can’t talk to you about it. Ask someone else, but not me.” Dorcas tries Peter next but he feigns stupid indifference and literally says,  _ Remus? What about Remus? He’s just feeling ill, you know, as usual.  _ The last defense to fall is James Potter, who Dorcas accosts after dinner and gives in only after Dorcas turns on the fake-tears.

“ _ Hush,  _ Dorcas, okay? Please don’t cry.” James flickers his hands about her shoulders very nervously and then swears. For good measure, Dorcas keeps crying just a little while longer while allowing James to think of what to say. They are standing in a strange passageway that Dorcas has never seen before, one that she thinks she’ll remember for a later date. 

“I- I just-” She sniffles dramatically, “I can’t believe him! How could he- how could you- how could  _ Dumbledore? _ ”

“Dorcas, do you think this is  _ Remus’s  _ fault? The attacks in Hogsmeade?” James looks angry, a look that Dorcas hardly sees on him. “He- he’s locked up when he transforms. There’s no way he could have gotten out.”

“And you’ve known all of this for years and not thought to tell me-”

“And why would I? He’s my best mate! I’m glad he’s here, aren’t you?” Dorcas glares at him. Slower, and with more emphasis: “Aren’t you?”

“Well, of course-”

“That’s that, then. He’s your friend the same as mine. He was locked up last night.”

“He’s a werewolf.”

“Ask yourself if that really makes a difference, alright? I don’t know what else to tell you.” James peels himself off of the wall and stands up straight. He’s taller than Dorcas and when his body language is defensive and angry like this, Dorcas can feel herself backing down. “And if you care at all about Remus, don’t go telling other people. This is his last year here. Just let him enjoy it. Please.”

James leaves, and Dorcas rushes off to tell other people.

Well, it’s not like she’s making a  _ huge _ production out of it. She’s just telling her friends. Marlene and Lily look somewhat worried and Mary only curious. 

Dorcas cuts straight to the chase. “We need to talk about the fact that Remus Lupin is- a-  _ werewolf _ !” Only one out of three seem surprised, which is two less than Dorcas had been hoping for.

Mary, looking shocked to the bone, says: “Are you having a laugh right now? You’re taking the mickey out of me!”

“No, I’m not! He was in Hogsmeade last night!” 

Marlene, even paler than usual, opens her mouth and then shuts it while Lily says the words that Marlene had been thinking about speaking:

“Dorcas, you need to watch what you’re saying.” Dorcas whirls on her.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Wait- slow down- can we just back up for a moment and just establish that Remus,  _ our  _ Remus, is a  _ werewolf _ ?” Mary looks perplexed.

“Yes!” Dorcas all but screams. “Yes, he is! I mean- doesn’t it only make perfect sense?”

“Dorcas, Mary, stop it and calm down,” Lily snaps in her bossy Head Girl voice. “Dorcas, you’re making baseless accusations about where Remus was or wasn’t last night. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“If only I could find him!”

“Where have you looked?” Dorcas breathes out heavily and hates Lily for being logical. “You might care to know that after every moon, Remus has to spend a great amount of time in the Hospital Wing, because he’s  _ hurt.  _ He tears himself apart. Every month.” Marlene’s mouth is a thin line, and she looks down. 

Dorcas ignores Lily in favor of asking her girlfriend, “Marlene, you knew about this?” Marlene’s blue eyes flicker nervously. No fucking backbone.

“Lily’s right.” Her voice is very quiet. “He’s probably really ill right now.”

“How long have you known?”

Lily and Marlene glance at each other nervously. Marlene doesn’t speak first, of course, and so Lily is left to take the brunt of Dorcas’s misguided anger.

“It doesn’t matter, Dorcas. Have some empathy.”

“Empathy?” Dorcas shrieks. “For a Dark Creature?! In your dreams!”

“Dorcas, why don’t you go talk to  _ him _ -”

“I don’t even want to fucking  _ look  _ at him again, now that I know what he is! Like, Mary, come on, don’t you feel the same?” Mary just shrugs. “If any of you go to see him, tell him to stay away from me. I don’t want to be his next fucking victim.”

**r**

Remus had spent the rest of his morning lying in a hospital bed and coughing until he lost his voice, properly and for good, spitting up blood and bile until Madam Pomfrey had finally forced him to take a draught. He had been wanting to complete work for classes, but the draught put him right to sleep and he wakes up groggy and tired in the afternoon.

Despite his unrelenting lightheadedness, Remus sneaks out of the hospital wing as Madam Pomfrey has found herself otherwise occupied by an onslaught of third year Ravenclaws who had brewed a potion wrong and then suffered the consequences. Remus is desperate for a long, hot shower. Maybe he’ll make himself some hot chocolate, and he’ll change out of these dirty robes, and he even considers trying to smoke a joint. Self care, Remus Lupin style.

All of these plans are promptly cancelled by one Mary MacDonald, who has come running down the hallway after him.

“Remus! Oi, Remus!” Remus swears and turns around as Mary skids to a halt in front of him, panting and breathless. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can we talk in the common room?”

“No. I’m angry with you.”

“You can’t be angry in the common room?”

“You’re-  _ fuck _ -” Mary puts her hands on her hips and stares at him, “You’re a werewolf.” Remus looks back at her warily. “And I never knew. So thanks for that.” Remus isn’t sure how to reply. 

His only response comes borne out of semi-panicked curiosity. “How do you know?” Mary opens her mouth but then Remus continues, “And I’m sorry, but I can’t have this conversation standing up. I’m so fucking tired. Can we please go sit down somewhere?” Mary balks.

“You know what? No! I’m angry with you, Remus! Because you’ve  _ lied  _ to me. For seven whole years, you told me lie after lie. And I was expected to be the dumb one, because I’m not Lily, the perfect Muggleborn, and I didn’t decipher it by myself. You just lied to me. That’s all.”

“Mary,” Remus begins, feeling a pain of frustration in his chest, “In the wizarding world, you have to lie if you want a normal life, as normal as it can be while being a werewolf-“

“This isn’t about being a werewolf!” Mary’s eyes are blazing. “This is about everyone else knowing, and being able to show you support, and being there for you and me being continuously kept in the dark about it because I didn’t know. I’m a Muggleborn. I didn’t know any-  _ any _ of this! Any of it was real! Like, Quidditch or Apparition, or Dark Magic! And werewolves were just another creature from fairytales! I only hear about them attacking people in the newspaper, but how could I have guessed that you were one, in real life?”

“Mary-”

“And what you lied about? Your mum being ill? Did that hit a little too close to home, d’you think?” Her face is a flash of anger, but she’s gone too far.

“Have some respect, why don’t you?”

“Seven years. I was one of your first friends here, Remus. And I didn’t matter enough to tell.”

“Mary-“

“And what about-“

“Mary, be  _ quiet _ . I get to talk now, okay?” His voice isn’t very loud, just sharp and angry, more serious than he’s ever had to be with her. Remus feels properly grown up having an argument like this. “In the wizarding world, there is an overwhelming, awful stigma around werewolves. We are Dark Creatures. We are monsters. To everyone else, we deserve to be put down, and we are treated as less than dogs. ‘Half breeds’,” his voice gets a little shaky after that term. It’s his least favorite of all the slurs directed at werewolves. 

He was born to two parents that he’s proud of. Neither Hope nor Lyall were wolves. Remus is not a half breed. His parents are human, they’re kind, and he always feels a sting of pure hate when he hears the term used against him. 

“Even though we’re wolves for twelve days a year. And the other three hundred fifty three are human.” 

Mary listens worriedly, obviously taking in the information that she’s giving him.

“And in the Muggle world, werewolves aren’t… they don’t exist, not like I do. But here, there’s a stigma. There’s discrimination. We’re outcasts, and I had to lie, because I’ll just have a life of shame and poverty, and-and  _ misery _ , okay? That’s why I lied, Mary, and I’d do it again just for some hope in the future. Chrissakes.” 

Mary lowers her head but speaks low under her breath.

“You were taught that hatred.”

“What?” Remus has barely heard her, and is beginning to feel exhausted with this topic. Mary tilts her chin up and regards him defiantly.

“You were taught to hate yourself for being a werewolf. The same way I was taught to hate myself for being Muggleborn. I was happy living a Muggle life until my Hogwarts letter came, which meant that all those strange coincidences in my childhood were actually real. And I’m introduced to a world where, all of a sudden, I’m supposed to hate myself.”

“I-”

“Same for being a woman. Same for being black. I wasn’t born with these ingrained ideas in my mind. I was taught them, same as you were about being a werewolf. Don’t you understand?” Remus doesn’t know what she’s trying to say. Is she  _ accepting  _ of him? “It doesn’t have to be this way forever. Times change.”

“Not fast enough.”

“So you have to try harder to change things.”

“And when have you ever stood up for werewolf rights? You who’s sat there reading the Prophet and spouting the same shite that everyone else is? Don’t be a hypocrite, Mary.” For once, Mary is left at a loss and defenseless. 

“No one I know has ever said a single positive thing about rights for werewolves except James and Sirius. Literally two people. Maybe Lily, but I can’t remember anything in particular. Muggles- well, there’s Muggle supporters everywhere. In the Ministry, at Hogwarts- professors, students, friends and their families. But  _ werewolves?  _ Nah, we’re all a bunch of dirty beasts who don’t deserve a single good thing. I’ve been internalizing that since I was bitten, since I was a little fucking kid. If you aren’t helping, you’re on their side.”

“Remus, I’m sorry.” All of a sudden, Remus feels awfully sad. His stomach feels sick and his palms have developed a sheen of sweat. His chest aches. Half with pain and half with hopelessness. His right leg tremors and shakes under him.

“Mary, I physically just cannot have this conversation any longer,” He rasps, “So I’m going to go. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Oh, Remus. I’m so sorry, I never-”

“It’s alright.” Mary steps back and bites her lip nervously, looking at Remus with an expression of pure pity as he leans against the wall. His right leg is shaking so badly that even she can tell.

“Does it…” Her voice is quiet. “Does it hurt very badly?”

Remus replies to her very drily. “People say it’s almost as bad as the Cruciatus.” And he starts off down the hallway, putting most of his weight on his left leg. Mary does not follow, nor does she reply. It’s a long struggle, walking back up to the Gryffindor tower, and Remus brushes off Sirius and Lily as he enters, telling them he’s going for a shower.

He can’t stand up while taking it, and sits on the tiled floor as the water comes down over his head. It makes him feel worse, to say the least. But then he puts on his softest jumper and his fuzziest socks, transfigures some old tea on his nightstand into hot chocolate, and snuggles up in bed under mounds of warm blankets. Comfortable at last. Ah, blast. He’d wanted to put on a record.

Remus goes about some very complex levitation and locomotion charms as he struggles to flick the ON dial of the record player while keeping the record levitating in the air. His head starts to hurt with the effects of all the magic, and it’s perfect timing for Sirius to enter once Remus is about to get frustrated and let the record drop to the floor. 

“Alright, lazy? Want me to put this on for you?”

“Yes, please.” Remus sighs in relief as he stops with the spell and the record drops into Sirius’s hands. It’s Sirius’s record anyways, Jimi Hendrix’s Band of Gypsys. Sirius drops the needle onto the record and turns up the volume to Remus’s satisfaction. 

“How are you feeling?” Sirius comes and sits on the foot of Remus’s bed, cross legged, and the tosser is wearing one of Remus’s jumpers. Hadn’t even asked. 

“Better than before.”

“Good.” Sirius pauses, eyeing him. “You aren’t angry?”

“About what?”

“That we let you get so close to Hogsmeade.” Remus wrinkles his nose.

“That’s not your fault. I was the one who ran away.”

“... And about the thing with Dumbledore, too.”

“Oh, I’m not in trouble. He just wanted to talk.” Remus takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. Jimi’s guitar is wailing in the background. “Didn’t care about you two being Animagus, either. So that’s fine.” Sirius nods as though unsurprised.

“Good. I guess you’re not coming to dinner?”

Remus laughs sarcastically. “Not when it seems my secret’s out to everyone who knows me. Mary’s really cross.”

“And it might be better to stay away from Dorcas for the time being.”

“Thanks, Sirius, that makes me feel better. Go on without me.” Sirius finally seems to understand that Remus wants to be left alone. He stands up semi-awkwardly, as if unsure about what to do or say.

“I’ll bring you something, alright?”

“Okay.”

“See you later.” Sirius takes a deep breath and then comes closer to Remus. He leans forward and kisses Remus on the forehead.

“You’re such a sap, Pads.” Remus says it while smiling, though. Sirius looks down at him and cocks his head to the side. His eyes are a clear blue. His calloused fingers move around Remus’s face, and tilt his chin up. Sirius leans in again and kisses him on the lips, briefly. 

“I love you.” Remus feels a chill run up his spine. Sirius steps back again and then smiles. “Okay, I’ll go, then. Don’t do any homework, Moons, you’re resting! Take it easy!” He flashes Remus a peace sign on his way out of the dorm. 

Remus finishes his hot chocolate and then burrows down deep under the covers, curled up on his side. The live album is quite long and Remus feels capable enough of turning it over using magic once it’s time for side B. The dorm is warm and Remus feels comfortable and safe. Of course, in the rare moments when his body feels alright, his mind turns to negativity. 

Most of these thoughts are about Mary and Dorcas and maybe more people knowing about him being a werewolf. Remus hates being seen as  _ only  _ a werewolf. He is often so subject to the horrible trials of mankind that it doesn’t seem fair to regard him as anything less.

Remus had dressed this morning in familiar motions of humanity. Doing up the buttons of his shirt, pinning his Prefect badge onto his rumpled robes, fixing the clasp of his necklace. Pendant a steady weight on his chest, a warm and glowing solidness. Dumbledore had been waiting below and Remus had been reminding himself that werewolves don’t wear jewelry, nor do they wear buttoned shirts. Werewolves aren’t made Prefects.

Now, Remus feels like there’s a huge flashing sign on his face that screams WEREWOLF! WEREWOLF ALERT! COME TAKE A PICTURE AND MAKE THE SIGHTING LAST LONGER! He sighs warily and curls tighter into bed. His stomach has begun to ache with painful cramps, and with no energy to go find a potion to fix them, Remus lies in bed and maps every hurt on his body.

These days, it seems like he’s always ill. Every time he smokes, he ends up coughing so hard that there’s blood sometimes. He can hardly walk before and after the moons because of his right leg. His stomach always hurts and more often than not, he’s badly nauseous. Headaches are perpetual and always pounding away in the background. A different set of symptoms that cycle through every day, but Remus is always hurting. 

Always.

By the time Sirius and everyone else come up from dinner, the stomach pains are so bad that Remus can hardly breathe. He is offered food and turns it down, he is offered conversation and the prospect of another record ( _ Yes? _ ), another cup of chocolate, a book, and Remus snaps at everyone that he just wants to go to sleep. 

It’s an early night in their dormitory. Remus lies alone in bed while his body is wracked with waves of unexplainable pain. In the darkness, with no music and no distractions, it all hurts even worse. Remus feels absolutely miserable. Physically as well as mentally. He has a fever and his body is strangely fatigued. Everything hurts. He lies in bed and holds back tears. He can’t lie here and cry, for god’s sakes, he’s a  _ seventh  _ year and still, this is what has happened. 

He’s embarrassed more than anything. Snape knowing about him was one thing, but his closest friends finding out indirectly is another. This is all his own fault. Dorcas won’t even talk to him, and Mary… Mary won’t ever think of him the same. Remus takes another gasping breath. His chest aches and he doubles over, gasping, gasping, gasping, finally forces himself to  _ breathe _ so the world will stop spinning.

And then an ever present, always ugly solution rears its ugly head: self harm. Remus’s pocket knife has been nowhere to be found for the past two years and his wand is lying on the bedside table. Remus is too fatigued to move and instead of breathing or trying a time delay tactic, he digs his fingernails into the soft skin on his forearm. Hard. 

His nails break the skin and he drags them downward, leaving trails of torn skin and welling blood in their wake. It stings and it feels so good. Remus gasps again, this time in relief, and removes his hand from his arm. There’s half-moon crescents of blood and some angry, raised red marks but that’s all. 

So the mental pain is at bay for a moment and in that sharp clarity of  _ proper,  _ clean pain, Remus can untangle a deep breath from inside and that’s okay, that’s peaceful. Then another awful cramp twists his stomach so badly that he thinks he’s going to throw up right now. It takes an insane amount of effort to drag his sweaty body out of bed and to the bathroom. Once he hits the bathroom floor, he doesn’t get up until sunrise.

Remus hopes a million times over that this sickness will wane with the moon. Whether he knows it or not, his pain is not on display the way it had been in the past. People are looking out for him, but things have changed, and after all he’s grown better at hiding in it. If he needs help, he is going to have to ask for it. All it is is a matter of pride. 


	104. [YR 7] Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas y'all!! my gift to you is awkward, awful jily. i would have made it less painful if not for the fact that i think it's generally accurate in relation to new relationships. anyways, i'm not hyping it up, so just try to enjoy lmao

_ we occupied the space where we’d never have a thing to lose _

_ between the bong rips and knife hits, protestant booze, stick and poke tattoos _

_ we were just over privileged youth seeing something to do  _

**j**

“Sirius is doing tattoos, these days, if you want one.” James informs Lily of this before their weekly Prefect meeting on Sunday night and Lily looks horrified.

“ _ Really _ ? He hasn’t told me about it!” 

“Yes, well. It was Benjy’s idea at first,” Lily rolls her eyes at this because it’s commonly known that she rather dislikes Benjy Fenwick due to his overwhelming and impulsive nature, “But Sirius got all the supplies together first, like a race, I guess, and he tattooed Benjy before Benjy could get at him, and he did a rather good job, actually. And anyways. We haven’t picked a patrol for Saturday.”

Lily handles this change of topic very smoothly. “Yes, well, everyone and their mothers are busy on Saturday because Hogsmeade, speaking of, would you like to go? And they’ve all come to me and tried to trade but apparently  _ no one  _ knows how trades even work and it’s a Saturday night so we’ve got to have  _ someone  _ on patrol, but it won’t be me.”

“Nor me. And yes, I’d like to go. Do you realize that this is the first time that we’ll be going to Hogsmeade together, and it’s you who asked me?” 

Lily regards him coolly.

“Interesting, isn’t it? You tend to grow on people.” James grins at her. “Like mold,” She continues, “Like black mold. Anyways, we’ll deal with patrols once they’re all here. What are you thinking about for Halloween?”

“What do you mean? Costume wise, or are you thinking about a party? I’m a great party planner! Last years’ was a success, I’m sure I could one up myself.”

Lily sighs. She does this often after James shares a brilliant idea with her. Remus and McGonagall are probably tied for the force of their long-suffering sighs, but James realizes that as he spends more time with Lily, more of his brilliant ideas are going to be sighed at. 

“What about an inter-house costume contest, and it’ll be the most brilliant thing Hogwarts has ever hosted?” Lily seems on the verge of a sigh but just manages to catch herself, which James is grateful for. He’s not sure if he can stand any more of his ideas being regarded as nothing more than silly little jokes.

“I’ll shelve that one,” She tells him, “Or you can bring it up at the meeting.” Right on time, two fifth year Ravenclaw Prefects push open the door to their classroom.

“Are we late?” One of them asks even after taking in the empty classroom.

“Early,” Lily tells them, “But only just. We’ll start in five minutes.” Everyone else trickles in during those five minutes, save for Remus and Emmeline, who show up predictably late but have also brought cookies to share, which even James is grateful for. Emmeline distributes the cookies to the assorted Prefects while Remus makes himself rather scarce, sitting at the back of the class and making attempts to quiet the rough coughing sounds he’s making by directing them into his elbow.

Lily starts talking about the importance of  _ telling  _ someone if you won’t be able to make a patrol, and passes around the rota for next week to make sure that everyone can make their patrols on time. Then she starts in about next Saturday, and some fifth year Hufflepuff  _ finally  _ offers to take the patrol after about five minutes of silence when there had been no sound save for Remus’s quiet hacking from the back corner. With that sorted, James is finally left to explain his costume contest plans, which are met with relative enthusiasm, especially from the Ravenclaws who seem to have an incredible passion for Halloween costumes that James listens to at length while Lily discusses more serious things with some older Prefects.

Remus creeps out halfway through the meeting and neither James nor Lily have the ability to follow him. No one else seems to notice or care. They end the meeting early, because the sun is still out and the weather is fair so everyone wants to enjoy it before four o’clock sunsets and freezing rain mark what Scotland is least regarded for: its winter weather.

James would have loved to follow them outside and spend some quality time with his broomstick if not for Lily’s insistence that they should go check on Remus, Remus who has learned to take care of himself at this point and doesn’t need to be searched for. They find him in the common room drinking tea and looking rather weak despite the full moon only having been a week ago. Sirius is with him, and so is Benjy.

Which means that Remus had left the meeting early to go seek refuge with Sirius Black, who  _ is _ doing tattoos, just by the way, and he had started as part of operation Make Benjy Feel Better which pessimistic Remus had deemed a lost cause.

“What?” Sirius protested. “Your mum died and you managed to feel better! He’ll cheer up eventually and we need to help him.”

“It wasn’t just his mum- it wasn’t  _ even _ his mum, it was his dad and his brother! That’s like if my mum died and then,” Remus cast about and laid eyes on James, “And then James died too! As my essential-brother.”

“Thanks, Moony.”

“No problem, but see? Plus Caradoc isn’t here anymore so Benjy's even sadder.” Sirius had then simply told Remus two words that are known to infuriate even the most patient of people: You’re wrong.

Truth be told, the tattoo had cheered Benjy up. Sirius had done a cute little grim reaper below his kneecap and Benjy had sworn at James for calling it cute.

So now they’re sitting in the Gryffindor boys dormitory while Sirius assembles his supplies and taunts all of them for not getting inked.

Remus just rolls his eyes, Peter makes up some excuse about not being able to be buried in his family plot if he’s tattooed (“That’s what Jews do, Peter, you’re not even Jewish!” Benjy protests), and James, well, James has no excuse and so lets Sirius draw a cute little lion on his forearm. His friend wields a needle tied to a pencil and starts working away.

After about ten seconds, he gives up.

“Bad luck, Prongs, your skin is too dark.”

“What?!”

“The ink won’t show up, look.” Sirius gestures at the dark ink mess he’s created on James's arm. “Sorry!”

“Your tattoo business is racist.”

“It’s not my fault!” And so then they find the palest person there who just so happens to be Lily Evans because she hangs out with the boys, these days, and for some strange reason she agrees to do it. She gets a flower next to her ankle and remains unflinching and rather straight faced throughout the entire affair, while the four boys surrounding her  _ ooh  _ and  _ aah  _ and Sirius keeps jamming that needle into her pale skin.

James thinks about that black ink flower on Lily Evans’s ankle for the rest of the day, the night, and then the next day. She wears socks that cover it, white ones, and James sometimes peers close enough to see if the black design might shine through but no such luck. Lily asks if he’s staring at her feet and James says feet are sexy and then Lily just shakes her head and sighs. 

So James is dating a cool girl with a cool tattoo. As cool as tiny little flowers can be, but still cool.

“You should get a nose ring, next.” James tells her as they walk back through the torchlit hallways after an evening spent in the library. “Like Mary’s! Can’t she do one for you?”

“I don’t want a nose ring, and Mary would think I was copying her anyways. Maybe I’ll try a tongue ring,” Lily says, and sticks her tongue out. Her nose wrinkles and her green eyes flash happiness, and James could kiss her then and there.

Instead of kissing, they hang out in the common room and it’s not as much fun because they’re seventh years. Remus is off working, and Sirius is bored which means he’ll be tattooing himself in no time flat. These days pass in an odd routine: class, organizing Prefects, more class, helping ickle first years with homework, Quidditch practice. Or some shuffled up sense of this order. It gets weary during the week so they all have fun during the weekends.

Weekends being Friday only after Quidditch practice, and Saturdays are free, but Sunday nights are usually also cleared away for homework. So weekends get clipped down to a day and a half instead of two full days of relaxation, and there’s honestly nothing to do about it.

By the end of the week, James thinks that he’s too exhausted to even make his Hogsmeade date with Lily and then determines that something must change. After Quidditch practice on Friday, James makes sure that the team has left before he lays down on a bench in the changing room and sighs melodramatically while Marlene tidies up and hums to herself while going about it.

James thinks that Marlene McKinnon is too good and pure for this world. She’s honestly too kind for her own good. The amount of graciousness that she puts out into the world never seems to be paid back to her, and James listens to her hum perfectly in tune as he stares at the ceiling of the changing room, hands folded behind his head.

“Hey, Marlene.”

“What’s up? Want me to polish your broomstick, now? Ha! That sounded way too sexual, mate, nevermind…” Marlene wanders into his vision and James sits up straight. “What’s up?” She asks again, still smiling at her own bad humor.

“Would you like to be Quidditch captain?” Marlene’s smile fades.

“What?”

“Quidditch captain. It’s too much for me to handle, we all know this. I mean, you more than anyone. You’ve been doing all my work for me and, well, you’ve gotten no credit. And you’re a better player than me. I’m already Head Boy, and I’ll still play, but being captain is just…”

“It’s a lot,” Marlene agrees. Her blue eyed gaze is clear and thoughtful. “I mean, yeah. If you want me to, I’ll take it.”

“I want you to.”

“Thank you.”

“You deserve it.” Marlene smiles bashfully, ducking her head and pushing her hair out of her face. She shakes her head. 

“You’re mental, Potter. I’d hug you if you weren’t all gross and sweaty. It means a lot, anyways. Thank you so much. You’re a good sort.”

**l**

In late October, Lily receives a hastily written wedding invitation that obviously had not been sent to other wedding guests; it’s in her  _ mum’s  _ handwriting even though the words are attributed to Petunia, and the  _ plus one  _ mentioned raises Lily’s levels of cortisol. In fact, the entire situation stresses her out. Lily is prone to overthinking and can be a bit of a worrier at times.

In this case:  _ If mum sent me the letter does it mean Petunia doesn’t know about it? Will I show up to the wedding and be kicked out? Did mum even discuss me coming with Petunia? Why didn’t Petunia send me an invitation, but mum did? Am I honestly supposed to bring James back to Vernon and Petunia’s wedding? Can I cover it up by maybe saying that we got off on the wrong foot? Because that’s an understatement.  _

Also, why are they getting married in the middle of fucking November?

The invitation to the wedding is presented to James as they sit side by side on a bench in Hogsmeade and he’s almost as surprised as Lily had been. 

“I can’t believe you’re inviting me to your evil sister’s wedding. Your sister who  _ loathes _ me.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of… I dunno. You’re my boyfriend, and I want you there, so I don’t really care what they think.”

“What if they kill me?”

“They won’t kill you.”

“They’re vicious.”

“I  _ know,  _ but you’re brave, and you’ve got thick skin, which is the most important thing when it comes to dealing with them. You’re my only hope.” It takes James a second to understand the reference, reminding Lily of their hopelessly peaceful summertime; the green grass of their campsite and the blue of the sky, and the butterflies in her belly that she feels whenever she’s near James.

His face is bright. Lily’s spent days agonizing over this invitation and James seems to have come to terms with it in mere seconds. So Lily kisses him on the lips because it seems that there’s nothing more to discuss. They’ve sat on this bench to watch the russet leaves flicker golden in the sunlight, but now Lily gets a bit distracted from her favorite season by her favorite boy. They kiss for a while and at first it’s weird on the bench, not knowing what to do with their hands. 

Lily turns fully towards him, one leg bent under her and moves her hand to the back of James’s head. His hair is thick, soft. Breath tastes like the sharp mint of some mouthwash and when Lily pulls back to breathe he is looking at her, only at her, as though he could see all of her and everything at once. Lily breathes. James smiles.

“This is obscene, don’t you think? We could return to it later.” Lily hates herself as soon as the words leave her mouth. She’s just so  _ anxious  _ about how to do things right and her mind goes a mile a minute, debating if their kissing is going on too long and if anyone is watching, if they’re embarrassing themselves by doing this in public. She thinks of Remus and Sirius and their terrible exhibitionism and flushes red, looking away from James and hiding a smile with bitten lips.

“Fine by me.” James shrugs his assent and shifts on the bench so they are once again looking at a dying landscape putting on its final show for the world. Their hands are clasped together, held in between their legs, pressed against each other. For warmth, comfort, or just someone by your side. 

Though sometimes, Lily thinks, she is housing all of the stars in her stomach and her insides burn with brightness. She tightens her grip in James’s hand and he smiles again, handsome. The grass sparkles with cold dew. There’s hints of smoke twining lazily out of chimney tops and the air is fresh, sharp, cold. Breathe out.

“Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Nah, maybe in a few minutes. Let’s sit.” For once, James does not force himself to fill the silence. They sit and watch this town that has somehow become home to them. The world around them is falling apart, literally and metaphorically, in ways too great to understand. But for now, there is simplicity in walking through those crunching leaves, drinking a warm butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, and holding your boyfriend’s hand as you walk back through the trees.

The tall dark towers of Hogwarts appear through the branches. After a rather slippery climb back up, Lily tells James that she’s got to prepare for her presentation in Ancient Runes, and he agrees almost readily. Her dormitory is empty and it’s a strange place to study, but they set up work on Lily’s bed. (Of all places!)

James lies on his back at the edge of her bed with his arms stretched out above him to hold his book. Lily sits with her legs curled under her and reads her own respective book. It’s about the prehistoric magical history behind the mysterious stone circles found all about Ireland. It would be interesting if Lily wasn’t finding herself continually distracted by the presence of one James Potter lounging at the edge of her bed, being quietly respectful. 

At least he seems to be reading. Lily doesn’t know what would happen if he caught her staring from over the pages of her own. Lily looks back to her book. All the history, names and titles and years are becoming overwhelming, and although it may be important in some respects, the words swim before her eyes.

_ You’ve gone to Hogsmeade, Lily, and now it’s time for homework. Be responsible. _

She glances back up at James as he flicks the pages. Lily sighs, quietly, and he finally glances up.

“Bored?”

“Not at all.” She returns to her book only now her face is heating up. She can tell that James is still looking at her, and when she looks up at him, she can’t help but smile. He has a knowing look on his face and in one instant, Lily decides that she’s done with reading this stupid book.

“Actually, yeah. This is dry as all hell. Would you like to make out?”

“I don’t think I’d mind at all.” James drops his book on the floor and sits up straight, bouncing on the bed, and his hair is a fucking disaster but his smile is vibrant and genuine. He moves closer to her, and she to him. They meet in the middle of her bed and for a moment sit awkwardly, looking nervously at each other.

Lily has a terrible habit of laughing while kissing James, despite her enjoyment of the activity, and they haven’t necessarily gotten better at the awkward bits. James sits with his legs crossed and Lily with her knees bent under her. God,  _ jesus _ , this is so much better when it’s  _ spontaneous.  _

James reaches forward and cups her jaw with one hand. His breath is hot against hers. She rests her hand by her shoulder and then against his neck, where she can feel his pulse under his skin.  _ Bum-BUM, bum-BUM, bum-BUM.  _ Lily tries opening her eyes and then thinks she should keep them shut. 

“James?” She pulls away from him and they’re both catching their breath.

“Yeah?”

“Would this be better if we lay down?”

“Sure?”

So they lay down and then it does get better, at least, makes a little more sense than sitting across from each other and snogging. That’s all it is, just kissing. Lips on lips, hands in hair, and James’s hand had flickered under her shirt and his fingers were warm against the curve of her hip, but he had pulled away, and for that Lily is grateful.

Now, they lie next to each other and it’s even more unbearably awkward. Her left leg is entangled with James’s right one. His arm is draped casually around her shoulder. Lily had told Mary and Marlene to find themselves elsewhere during the late afternoon, but isn’t sure where Moira is. The curtains aren’t drawn around her bed, and she’s too nervous to even move and pull them back. There’s not really any reason.

Lily chews her lip and bends her left leg, the one that James’s is entwined with. He does the same. They knock their knees together. Lily is thinking about sex. Not that she wants to have it, I mean, she’ll have it  _ eventually _ , but she’s sort of paranoid about when it should happen. And how. Is it always unbearably awkward? What about… noises? What happens then? And, christ, they have to be  _ naked. _

Lily isn’t insecure of her body around her girlfriends, but James is a different story. Even when they’re making out or cuddling, Lily feels overly aware of herself and has been prone to sucking in her stomach until she can’t really breathe, and it’s stupid and fucking uncomfortable. But James is properly  _ fit  _ and Lily’s sort of… not. 

“Hey.” 

“What’s up?”

“Are you a virgin?”

James thinks it over. “Yeah.” He pauses. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Lily doesn’t look at him. “What’s the farthest you’ve gone with someone?” James thinks this one over too, and sometimes opens his mouth to begin but then thinks better of it. “Better not to lie on this one.”

“Alright, then, I’ve only just kissed. Made out, like.” Lily breathes out in relief.

“Yeah, me too. Man, it’s just sort of awkward, isn’t it?”

“Kissing?”

“The whole situation.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I do!” Lily finds it hard to put into words. There’s an incredible swooping of nervousness and excitement in her stomach when she and James are close, when they touch and when they kiss. But she’s also  _ scared.  _ Scared she’ll mess up or do something wrong, or James will finally work up the nerve to take off her shirt and realize that she’s genuinely chubby and then- then what?

Lily thinks about her friends: Dorcas and Marlene, Mary and Danny, Remus and Sirius. She knows that all three couples have had sex by now and wonders, just-  _ how _ ?! How does the situation come about? She supposes that Dorcas and Mary are very confident, and at that, so is Sirius, so they must have initiated it. Which would leave James to initiate anything further. Damn, Lily hates thinking about this.

“I think it’s just a matter of getting comfortable with it,” James tells her. “Practice makes perfect. And there’s no pressure, anyways.”

“Yeah.” 

“Want to keep practicing?”

“Yeah!”


	105. [YR 7] Innocent Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for referenced sexual assault

_i fell for a trick and fell into the trap of a thief’s nest_

_who stole what i’ve known, corrupted my bones, and left me there for dead_

_he borrowed my body until my skin started rotting through my head_

_i woke up alone and these jutting bones were all that i had left_

_i was all that i had left_

**s**

There is something disgustingly poetic about being in the right place at the wrong time or vice versa, and Sirius understands that he’s experienced a great collection of moments like these throughout his life. 

Getting caught by Filch after playing a prank, or maybe, running into Severus Snape as he’s lurking outside the Gryffindor common room and saying something that will change everything forever. Or else letting his mind wander at the dinner table and seeing what consequences arise from that alone. 

This leaves him often on edge. The way that life can change so quickly based on the layout of things and how they’ve been pieced together; if anything brings Sirius anxiety it’s that his life could have been completely different based on one single thing, maybe, it could have been the Sorting Hat putting him in Slytherin. Sirius thinks about it often these days, especially when his time at Hogwarts is nearly over and he feels quite terrified about what awful mistakes he’ll make as an adult, living in the real world.

He only starts with tattooing himself once everyone else doesn’t want anymore. Last year, when bored, he used to smoke and then eat. Snog Remus, smoke, drink, eat. Study? Who knows. Sixth year wrapped up rather nicely and Sirius starts seventh craving _change._ Mary helps by suggesting he stretch his ears because it’s an edgy thing to do, and Sirius takes her up on the offer. 

And so. His ears are in the process of being stretched by two small black disks that Mary will _engorgio_ every month or so. And so, Sirius attaches assorted needles to the end of a pencil (crazy Muggle inventions) and then proceeds to stab himself again and again and again until the design looks just right. A moon, and today it is a waning gibbous, just barely full but soft and blurry around the edges. Yes, Sirius has charmed his own tattoo to move phases with the actual moon because why put his magical talent into his studies when he can make tattoos _move?_

Remus doesn’t know about it yet because Sirius is sure he’ll get angry. Why? Don’t ask. Small things make Remus tetchy and Sirius knows better now than to show him a tattooed testament of a. Sirius’s love for him or b. A constant reminder of Remus’s lycanthropy. Take your pick on who’s more insensitive but anyways, who cares, there was another full moon a few days ago and Moony got lost again and when Padfoot found him, he was surrounded by unfamiliar wolves with shining eyes and white teeth.

They’d gotten out of it okay because they always do, only Sirius is having nightmares again. Sunday night and he wakes up covered in sweat, shaking, stuck to Remus’s sheets and guilty. Sirius is oddly cold but Remus is as overheated as ever.

One leg and arm are stuck out on top of the covers, and he’s wearing a vest top because he gets so hot in the night. Remus’s pink mouth is open a little, the way it always is when he’s fast asleep, and there’s a small spot of drool on the pillow under his head. His hair is an unruly disaster. Sirius loves him, leaves him.

He slides out of bed and sits in the wide windowsill for a while. Too cold to crack the pane but there’s ice frosted on the outside. Sirius is still shaking from the leftovers of the dream that cling to him, and the cold of the dormitory does nothing to help.

Downstairs, he lights a fire and lounges about on the sofa. The windows are all dark, and Sirius feels awfully lonely. He lies on the sofa for a while in a state of almost-sleep where he is warm and comfortable but his mind wears at him. The nightmare had been about wolves tearing him apart and it’s still haunting him. In the few moments where he’s almost peaceful enough to sleep, he hears a voice from outside the portrait hole, shouting. Damn.

Sirius scrapes himself to his feet and pushes open the portrait hole; Mary MacDonald is standing on the outside looking scruffy and she’s drunk, smells like liquor and is crying. 

“Mary, what’s up?”

“Couldn’t remember the password.” Sirius helps her through the portrait hole and to the couch to sit down. She staggers when she walks and nearly collapses next to him, crying and mumbling to herself.

“What’s wrong, then? Why are you crying?”

“‘S my fault,” Mary sobs. “Should’ve listened. Mum’s always right. She’ll kill me.” Sirius hushes her, gently rubbing her upper arm as he holds her. “She’ll kill me,” She repeats, crying harder.

“No one’s going to kill you, love.”

“She said it happens to girls who aren’t careful, and I asked for it, for I fought him, told him… told him… I asked for it.”

“Mary…”

“Told him he was a _tosser._ I got it. Got what I paid for. Oh, _fuck._ My skirt.” Sirius looks down and sees that there’s a bloodstain blooming on Mary’s grey skirt. She touches the material almost absentmindedly. “Hope it comes out.”

“Are you on your period?” 

“It’s rude to ask a girl that, Sirius.” She starts sobbing even harder, and through shuddered hiccups, she says, “No, it’s not my period ‘nd he didn’t use a johnny. I want to die.” 

Then she throws up in his lap. Sirius inhales sharply as she leans further over him, hands grabbing forward to hold herself up; she grabs the couch and then his shirt while Sirius sits up straighter- in a moment of insecurity he doesn’t want her touching his soft stomach even though she’s too far gone to even think about it, and she nearly falls over as he readjusts, throwing up on the couch and his thigh, sobbing out apologies. 

“Ohhh, I’m sorry, Sirius, ‘m so sorry…”

“Ah, that’s alright.”

“I’m s-sorry…” Her weeping is mixed with hiccups and heaving as she vomits onto the floor.

“It’s okay, Mary. Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Mary tries to stand and she barely manages; veering hard on unsteady feet and steadying herself against Sirius. 

“Not my room. Yours.”

“Oh, come on Mary, no one’s going to be angry with you.” She grabs onto him harder. 

“Please.” There are unspoken reasons behind why she doesn’t want to be left in her own bedroom and Sirius cannot begin to make any sense of them. Mary starts crying again and Sirius hushes her. They climb the stairs to the boys’ dormitory and Sirius rushes her into the bathroom in hopes that no one else will wake up. Sirius cleans himself up with a spell as Mary falls shakily onto the floor.

Mary pukes a bit more and then curls up into a ball, her head resting between her knees, and her breaths harsh in her throat. Dark red, wet blood has continued to stain her skirt. Her breaths hitch in her throat. 

“What… what can I do?” Sirius asks patiently. “Do you want a shower? I can get you some clean clothes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Sirius returns with some clothes of his to sleep in, all too big for her but what can you do, and she is rocking back and forth on the floor all glazed eyes, still wasted, tears dripping down her cheeks like she doesn’t even notice them at all. “Hello,” Sirius says, squatting down beside her. “Need help up?” Mary only shrugs. “Clothes here.” Sirius puts them on the floor beside her. “You can use my soap, shampoo, whatever. Have you had any water? Here.” Sirius places a cup in front of her. 

Mary just looks at it for a while, and Sirius presses it into her hands. 

“You’ve got to drink that if you don’t want the world’s worst hangover tomorrow.”

“It’ll happen either way.”

“It’ll help.” Mary chugs the water. After she finishes, breathless, she asks:

“What am I going to do?”

“Just take a shower, Mary, and we’ll take it one step at a time. I’ll be right outside.” Mary opens her mouth and closes it again, mouthing words that Sirius cannot hear. “Just take a shower. It’s going to be okay.”

**m**

Mary’s shower lasts the better part of an hour. She scrubs at her skin until it is raw and aching and then scalds herself with boiling water, as hot as it can go, as though she could forget, as though she can get rid of the germs and dirt and everything awful. She never stops crying. Towels off and stares at herself in the mirror.

Mary looks in the mirror and thinks _I hate you I hate you I hate you._

Her eyes are red, puffy. She looks miserable. Mary’s hair requires an intense, exhausting amount of maintenance, and she usually oils her hair before bed, braids it, and wraps it in a scarf to sleep in. Mary looks at her hair, washed with Sirius’s useless shampoo, and knows that it will be a literal disaster tomorrow. She wears some soft shorts and a shirt of his that are baggy on her. There’s purple bruises on her wrists, waist, thighs. Still drunk. The world is wobbly and too hot.

Mary looks at the four toothbrushes by the sink and wants her own to use. Once again, tears start wavering in her eyes. Fuck, why can’t she stop crying? Mary covers her face with her hands and stands there, tears falling down her face for the fucking millionth time tonight while Sirius knocks gently on the door.

“Are you decent?”

“Mhm.” Mary presses her back to the wall as Sirius slips into the bathroom. “Where am I-” She begins, a million questions on her mind, “Am I- are we- am I sleeping with you?” She hates the term, hates the question, hates the fucking _implications_ and then sobs while Sirius looks all too concerned and steps forwards, arms open, offering a hug. So Mary hugs him and cries, shaking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you can sleep in my bed. I can- I don’t have to sleep, it’s almost morning anyways.”

“I’m so _tired_.”

“Mmm, you’re drunk. You have to sleep it off.”

“I wanna brush my teeth.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t-” She hasn’t the words for it. “I don’t, there’s no toothbrush for me!” Sirius hushes her gently, rubbing a comforting circle in her back. Mary hugs him even tighter because he's the only person she can imagine talking to about this, about that, about anything.

_You were drunk, you were fucking wasted and having fun anyways._

_You got wasted and were wearing a short skirt, and were all over Danny._

_It doesn’t matter if you didn’t want it, you looked like a slut and you acted like one too._

Mary sobs.

“‘S all my fault.”

“It’s _not_ your fault. _Gemino_.” Sirius duplicates a toothbrush and he gives it to Mary. His eyes are sad, worried. “Brush your teeth, and we’ll go to bed, and things will look better tomorrow.” There’s no way it can be true but Mary has no choice but to believe him. She brushes her teeth and it distracts her from crying, at least. 

Sirius’s bed is cold and the sheets are all twisted up. Mary asks him to stay, and so he does. They lie with their backs against each others’ for a while. The world is still a bit shaky for Mary, wobblier than it should be, and she feels nauseous but not enough to puke. Her body aches. This hurting, cold loneliness is worse than anything so she flips over and pulls Sirius close to her without words, just with actions. 

She’s just been raped and won’t even think about that word for weeks to come, and there’s still tears fresh in her eyes because at the end of it all, she wants someone safe and kind. Sirius wraps his arms around her and tells her that she’s okay now. At least she can believe this. Or: if Sirius did what Erwin had done a few hours ago, it would still be Mary’s fault; it’s always Mary’s fault.

And some things are so simple. Lying in bed with a best friend, his arms around you, his breath on your neck and it’s not sexual. Could never be. They tried it once, a few years back when they didn’t even know up from down, and Mary liked him just fine but Sirius likes boys. Didn’t know that at the time or maybe he did and was too afraid to do anything about it.

Mary’s got girl parts which makes her weaker, makes her worthless. In 1977, a girl is nothing if not for something to love, fuck, use, trash. Like it’s that easy. Get her drunk, get her smiling at you, see where it goes from there. 

“What am I gonna do?”

“Hmm,” Sirius responds, half asleep and making Mary feel even more guilty for keeping him up. “Hm. I think we should go down to Pomfrey. Make sure you’re okay, physically. And then… McGonagall.”

“I don’t. I don’t want to talk to Mc… Mc… McGoogles.” Sirius laughs, and Mary barely joins in. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Her words are slurred from drink and plain exhaustion. “Don’t wanna talk.”

“Then you can tell me who did it, and I’ll go kick his ass.”

“Nah. You’ve done enough of that for me.” Sirius doesn’t respond right away. He and Mary don’t often rehash their shaky past, which is fine by the both of them. But.

“You can tell me either way, if it’ll help. I won’t kick his ass if you don’t want me to.”

“Mmm.”

“Was it Danny?”

“No.”

“Wasn’t Snape, was it?”

“ _God,_ no.” Sirius reserves himself to silence. “Please don’t guess. There’s three left and you know who it is.” Still no response. Mary shifts, Sirius readjusts his arms, they both sigh.

“You’re going to be okay, Mary. It’ll turn out alright.”

Even if she believed Sirius for the space of a heartbeat sized moment, it would always be undone in the end. Things could be different _if._ Being a woman is one thing, and being a mudblood is another. Mary used to be proud of her family and her parents. Being Muggleborn was no new thing to her. She was never insecure.

Two months into seventh year and all she is is scared and disgusted. A second away from bursting into tears over all the ways she could have prevented this. _Stupid._ And Danny didn’t help. Maybe he had been drunk too, and she thinks he had been, but. Oh, but. The Slytherin common room had been so dark.

_Let’s go upstairs?_

_Sure, yeah._

Could Mary even talk by then? Danny had consent, anyways. She remembers the way up, holding his hand. His roommates looking up at them, grinning, stupid and playing some drinking game. 

_Want to play with them?_

_Yeah, sure._

Danny hadn’t been expecting all of his friends to be upstairs or else he wouldn’t have invited her. But they were. So Danny and Mary couldn’t just retreat to behind the dark green curtains of Danny’s bed. They sat and drank with the rest of them: Mulciber, Snape, Selwyn, Yaxley. It had been a mistake from the start. 

It had just been a mistake. Mary can’t remember if the word ‘no’ ever crossed her lips, although ‘stop’ definitely did a few times, and she couldn’t scream because… He’d put a spell on her. Something literal and awful and she hadn’t been able to move.

_Stupid little mudblood._

It had hurt more than any time she’d done it with Danny. Mary would have fought like hell if she’d had any control over her limbs, drunken or not. All she’d seen was him, his face and his chest and him on top of her. Closed her eyes and all she could feel was him. Mary starts crying again. It hurts too badly, all of it, everything. 

Sirius hugs her tighter. Despite his comfort, Mary cries all night long.

**reg**

“Did you hear? Erwin Mulciber’s been expelled!” Diane Burman announces this at breakfast, and Theodora hears it, who tells Regulus, who asks: “ _What?”_ As soon as Diane says it, their entire section of the table erupts in excited chatter while Regulus whirls around to look at some of the older boys, all of whom look rather clandestine about the news. 

“Selwyn, did you hear about it?” Regulus asks.

“Didn’t know you were such a gossip, Black,” Carnelian snaps at him. “You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.” Regulus whistles loudly as he turns back to Theodora. She leans in close to him so they can chat without the seventh year boys listening in on them. 

“I don’t think it was anything to do with the Dark Lord, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo tells him. 

“Ah, I’m not worried about it. Mulciber kept it all quiet, anyways. And I’m sure the Dark Lord has bigger plans for him.” To be perfectly honest, Regulus has been considering leaving school on his own account. It’s something that he discusses with Evan and Anthony after their Transfiguration class out in the courtyard.

Evan picked up smoking over the summer and it seems childish not to join in, you know. Regulus hates the taste of tar and tobacco on his tongue but he smokes anyways, and across the courtyard, a group of seventh years including Sirius are smoking too. Regulus turns his back to them and puffs at his fag while Evan begins:

“You do realize that we’re, like, viewed as lesser because we’re still at Hogwarts. We can’t even be summoned. Even if we were, we’re not legally allowed to Apparate, and that might raise questions.”

“It didn’t over the summer,” Anthony argues, and Evan only shrugs.

“Mulciber’s left, and honestly? Good on him. Hogwarts was only holding him back, and to be honest, I think it’s fair time that we start considering our own futures. My family would support me all the way if I left school. I could go on missions with Jonothan. I think it would be perfect. What do you think?”

Regulus and Anthony look at each other. Anthony’s green eyes are thoughtful but not wary, at least. He’s thinking about it. Regulus tilts his head down and blows smoke at his feet. From across the courtyard, he can hear his brother laughing, and he hates the sound. 

“I dunno, mate. Regulus, what do you think?” Anthony has never been able to make his own decisions. Regulus shrugs.

“I’ll hold out a little longer. I dunno how it would be to live at home. My dad’s ill.” No one replies. “It might be a good idea, though, Evan. Maybe at the end of sixth year.” Evan shrugs and nods. Anthony coughs; inexperienced. 

Regulus spends the rest of the day a little detached and lost in thought about those ideas that Evan has now put into his head. In the afternoon, Slughorn calls Slytherin house together to cram into the common room and listen to him talk about a topic that literally, absolutely nobody wants to hear about.

“Alright, listen up, listen up!” Slughorn stands in front of them and waves his hands in a hopeless gesture to quiet them. Barty slouches in his seat next to Regulus and mutters something about the fucking uselessness of this situation. Regulus mentally agrees but says nothing, just listens as Slughorn begins his lecture. He’s given it before, over the years, to fourth years and above. It’s honestly worse than any Potions class, worse than even History of Magic. 

“Sex!” Slughorn declares. “It’s only a natural thing to take place, and it is inevitable that you will have it at some point throughout your life. However, practicing safe sex is _always_ necessary. Can someone tell me a tactic you can use to practice safe sex?” 

“Abstinence,” Barty grumbles under his breath while Evan, on his other side, snorts with laughter. Theodora raises her hand.

“Yes! Ms. Rowle!”

“Consent.”

“Consent! Excellent! Consent is a necessity.”

“Wonder if _he’s_ gotten any consensual action in his life.” Barty’s commentary is getting old at this point, and Regulus rolls his eyes while Theodora kicks Barty under the table. Slughorn starts laying in about contraception while Regulus thinks about his conversation with Evan and Anthony. _Would_ it be more worthwhile to the cause to drop out of school? N.E.W.Ts _don’t_ matter so much, too much, and Regulus pulled okay marks on his O.W.Ls…

He doesn’t share these personal thoughts with Theodora, but she talks to him after Slughorn’s Sex Talk ends. 

“Do you think… well… I’ve heard some rumors. Do you think Mulciber got expelled for doing something, like, sexual?”

“For sleeping with someone?”

“Well, yes, but.” Theodora looks anxious. Her and Regulus sit in a corner of the green-tinged common room. The Black Lake overhead casts watery shapes and shadows across her face. “But, like, _without_ consent.” Oh.

“Have you heard that he… he did that?” Theodora nods. “Really? Jesus…” Regulus has always maintained a high level of respect for Erwin Mulciber. He’s one of the Dark Lord’s most devoted followers at Hogwarts, and he had even been summoned to aid in attacks while at school. Regulus looks up to him. He takes his role of a young Death Eater very seriously, the same as Regulus is trying to. It hasn’t, nor ever been, a joke to him.

Theodora bites at her lip, picks at her fingernails. Her motions of anxiety make Regulus impatient.

“Theo, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like thinking that stuff like that goes on at Hogwarts.”

“He got expelled. That’s punishment enough.” Even though it isn’t, at this point, not for someone who had already been looking for a way out. 

“What if it were me?”

“Who are your friends saying it was?” Theodora looks down and shrugs.

“Some Gryffindor girl. Whoever’s dating Danny Hunter.” Regulus knows full well that Mary MacDonald is dating Danny Hunter because she always hangs around after Slytherin Quidditch practice waiting for him. Sirius dated her, back in the day, back when he and Regulus used to talk. 

“She’s a mudblood, though.”

“It’s not an excuse.” Theodora’s brown eyes are hard, which they never are. “That’s no excuse. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“You’d better,” She tells him, and that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, i know this is sensitive stuff & i'm not just using it as a plot point. i love mary and this all plays into the future i've got planned for her, since canon told us very little about her and i'm working with what little i have.


	106. [YR 7] Catch the Sparks

_ the guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me _

_ and the bruises that you feel will heal, and i hope you’ll come around _

_ ‘cause we’re missing you  _

**m**

Picking up smoking, admittedly, is not the best way to deal with trauma but Remus had picked up on Mary’s sour mood and offered her a free packet of fags that he nicked from some fourth years on patrol and to be honest, Mary will take what she can get.

Drinking is now out of the question. A hot warmth of liquor in her throat or the liquid, fun feeling of her limbs has now morphed into being out of control, spiraling, losing everything. But coping sober is not coping at all. Give Mary a nicotine rush and she’ll be fine. Give Mary someone to cling onto, someone named Sirius Black, and she’ll be excellent.

Mary MacDonald has never been dependent. In fact, she has been very much the exact opposite for most of her life. Growing up in London in the 60s with two parents who can best be described as hippies and an older sister who had already suffered the brunt of being the eldest child had led Mary down an independent, if somewhat rebellious, path. 

Now, she can’t do anything by herself.

Sirius waits for her every morning in the common room, sometimes with Remus, or James, and sometimes alone. He’s so kind, so understanding, so patient. He never tries to make her talk about it. Mary feels like something might have happened to Sirius. Not like what happened to her, but at some point, someone had taken his own free will from him just the same as her. Sirius offers her some dreamless sleep draught, but she denies it. Mary doesn’t want to be under the influence of anything.

Mary hardly ever sleeps. She doesn’t eat much either. Mostly she just sits and smokes, waiting for this fearful pain to end. Anxiety eats her from the inside out. One night in late October, Sirius isn’t there after dinner and neither are any other of the boys. Lily quietly tells her it’s a full moon and Mary doesn’t know why Sirius has to go. He’s not the werewolf.

“What’s wrong with you, anyways?” Lily asks as Mary wraps herself in a blanket in the common room. She is miserable, but at least she can be warm and miserable. Lily, Marlene, and a younger girl named Lucille have all been playing some complicated Wizarding card game that Mary’s too tired to try understanding. 

“I’m just tired.”

“You should play!” Lucille offers, smiling. “It’s really fun once you start.” Lily and Marlene look over at her, too. Expectant. Mary shuffles forward and tries to contain a sigh. Lily makes room for her on her side of the table and Mary looks at the game. She’s given up already. Lucille starts explaining and Mary doesn’t listen.

“... don’t really care about the rules, can we just start, and I’ll learn through example?” Mary interrupts the younger girl and Lucille looks hurt for a moment before her too-bright smile returns.

“Sure, okay!” Lucille sits forward and starts flipping cards out onto the table. Mary is dealt in and watches Lily, Lucille, and Marlene play. After a few turns, Mary is losing by a landslide and is constantly being chastised by Lucille for her evident lack of understanding about the game. 

At Lucille’s fourth: “No, that’s not right,” Mary snaps. 

“I don’t, honestly, give a fuck if it’s right or not.” Mary stands up. Her head aches, and Lily and Marlene look confused. “I’m going to bed.”

“Mary…” Lily evidently doesn’t know what else to say, and Mary evidently doesn’t give a shit about what  _ she  _ has to say, either. Mary would like a shower, but she’s too tired. She buries herself in her bedsheets and lies in bed in the darkness of her four-poster. Maybe an hour later, Lily and Marlene come up to bed. 

“Mary?” Lily’s asking, and Mary hears her footsteps approach her bed. “Mary, are you up?” Mary doesn’t respond. She hears Lily sigh, and the footsteps walk away. “I think she’s asleep.”

“Maybe she’s ill, or something.” Marlene tells her.

“Could be her time of the month.” Moira’s voice is snarky, and Marlene ignores her. She barely talks to Moira, and it’s been this way for years. When Marlene wants a point across, she does it with little confrontation and lots of passive-aggressiveness. 

“Could be any number of things.” Lily says. “Maybe it’s best to leave her be.” So they do. Whether for better or worse. Mary lies in bed awake all night long, tossing and turning, suffocated by the curtains hanging around her bed. Little by little, sunlight changes the quality of light in the dormitory, and Mary finally drags herself out of bed. She changes into yesterday’s robes, brushes her teeth with her own toothbrush.

There’s a stranger in the mirror, and Mary starts a bit at the sight of herself. The girl who stares back at her looks nothing like her. It’s strange. Her hair is a mess, and her eyes perpetually puffy from crying. She has a nose ring, three earrings in each ear. Her eyes are hollow. Mary takes a few steps back from the mirror, and her reflection does the same. 

Uncomfortable and nervous, she leaves the bathroom. She’s only hoping that Sirius will be back from wherever he went, because every day has been a bad day ever since and without a friend’s comforting support, she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. 

Mary jogs downstairs and, thank god, Sirius is sitting on the arm of the sofa, picking at the paint on his boots. The Union Jack that Mary painted over the summer needs a touch up. Instead of greeting him with familiar kindness, she asks,“Where were you last night?” Sirius looks up at her, confused.

“Good morning to you too, Ms. McDonald. How did you sleep?”

“I needed you.” Sirius stands up and walks across the common room to her. He looks tired; dark half moons under his eyes, and less of a smile than usual in his grey eyes. “You didn’t tell me you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not always around, Mary. Shall we go to breakfast?”

“Just- where were you?”

“Out.”

“With Remus?” 

“With whoever. If you’re going to act like this, I might as well go back to bed.” Mary stares at him, hurt. She hadn’t realized that he’s waking up early to be there for her, and for a moment she hates herself for needing him, always. Fuck. Mary feels tears in her throat.  _ Why, why, why.  _ These days, her principal reaction to anything is just tearing up. Sirius’s handsome face falls and he steps forward slowly, touching her arm.

“Mary, you know that this business with Remus isn’t something we can talk about. Some things have to stay secret.”

“Yeah, I know.” The knot in her throat chokes her words. “I just wish you’d’ve told me. No one tells me anything.”

“Mary...” Sirius looks sort of uncomfortable. “Every full moon, I won’t be around, okay?”

“Alright.” They pause. Sirius rubs at her arm, gently, then takes a step back.

“Want to go to the Great Hall?” Mary shakes her head, and a few tears streak down her cheeks. “Come on, now, you’re alright. Let’s go for a smoke?”

“Yeah.”

They share a cigarette for breakfast. The October sky is grey. Heavy. It brings a headache behind Mary’s eyes, and the cigarette smoke doesn’t help. She passes the cigarette back to Sirius and puts her head in her hands. Days like these, it feels like there’s no way to ever get better. It feels like all hope is gone. 

“Mary?”

“I’m alright.” Her voice is thick with emotion. 

“Okay.” She hears the crackle of his cigarette. “It’s okay not to be, too.” Mary doesn’t reply. Sirius smokes out the rest of the fag and then just sits by her.

“Erm,” Mary says, finally sitting up straight. “You can go off to breakfast, or find your mates. I need a few minutes.”

“Oh, yeah. For sure. I’ll see you in class, alright?” Mary doesn’t reply. Her mouth feels glued shut. She watches Sirius go. His boots beat loudly on the ground of the stone courtyard as he strides back into the school. And there, in the corner, a shadow. A dark skinned figure who pokes his head around a column, makes fleeting eye contact with Mary, and Mary can hear the anxious thoughts bouncing around his head all the way from here.

It’s Danny. He’d obviously been hanging around, as he often is. It’s a main reason that Mary walks to class with Sirius as her quasi-bodyguard, because Danny won’t come up to her if Sirius is around. And right now, Mary is alone and vulnerable. Danny’s moving quickly and Mary gets up, trying to move away from him, but he catches her first.

“Mary- hey!” He catches her arm in his grasp and Mary throws him off, reaching for her wand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ touch me, don’t you fucking  _ dare _ .” Mary points her wand at him and Danny takes a few steps back, holding up both hands. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. We’re done. We’re not dating anymore. Go away.”

“Please, Mary, I need to talk to you about it. I didn’t mean- I didn’t know what was happening, what happened, I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” For the millionth time today, Mary is already on the verge of tears, and it isn’t even nine in the morning. “I don’t care.”

“I didn’t- I, Mary-”

“Shut up.”

“I was blackout-”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

“Let me get a  _ word _ in-”

“Shut  _ up,  _ Danny!” Mary screams. She would make him shut up with a silencing charm if it wouldn’t be too much of a flashback to what had happened to her. “I don’t care! You didn’t help me! You left me! It was your fault!” And damn, it feels good to throw the blame like that. Someone other than her can be the bad person for a moment, for today.

“Mary, I didn’t  _ know _ !” And maybe, maybe he didn’t. Maybe it had been dark in that dormitory for everyone in it. The world goes dark and blurry, and are there five beds in here or six? Is that the ceiling or the floor? Mary feels herself going back in time and has to work to pull herself out of it. There are tears dripping down her face.

“Danny, I don’t even care. I don’t want to date you, I don’t even want to talk to you. Please, just leave me alone. Please. Please.” Danny’s face is sad, pitying. Mary wants to hug him and hex him at the same time. She loves him. Loved him. She sobs and he takes another step forward, she takes one back. 

“Mary-”

“Just  _ go.  _ Honestly, please. Please.” Danny finally takes a step back. Mary turns her back on him, and when she finally turns around, he’s gone. She smokes another cigarette and then goes to History of Magic. For once, she takes notes. 

Days pass like these and they hurt and they hurt and they hurt. Mary sees her friends in love and hates them all. An evil poison works into her heart. She sees James and Lily holding hands in the corridor and hates, she sees Remus and Sirius sitting essentially on top of each other in the common room and hates, she sees Dorcas and Marlene dancing around their dorm and  _ hates. _

Mary is not jealous. Mary is never going to love someone again, not unless they’re simply a friend with a kind heart and a body soft enough to hold her against. In bed, at night, she would rather be alone except she will never sleep again either. Maybe: nothing will ever be the same. Mary hates herself for her inability to recover. She’s let this hurt more than it has to.

Halloween comes, and Mary doesn’t dress up but she attends the party in the common room because that’s what the old Mary would have done. But getting inebriated does not strike her as attractive. Mary dances a little with Sirius, and Lily, and Peter. But Peter leaves halfway through for the Hufflepuff common room, Lily leaves for James, and Sirius leaves to check on Remus.

So Mary smokes a fag out the window and then stays in the windowsill for comfort. Even sitting in the windowsill and nodding along to the music, Mary can feel her chest tightening with panic. No one looks like themselves. Masks, makeup, costumes. Lily is dancing with James. They look good together, and you can pick them out in a crowd; Lily’s fiery hair and James’s tall, lean physique. The music is fucking awful.  _ Yes Sir, I Can Boogie.  _ The noise, the people, the smell of sweat and drink is all making Mary feel like throwing up.

Marlene isn’t even here, she’s with Dorcas and the Hufflepuffs, apparently. And Sirius… Mary stares around worriedly. The pressure on her chest is increasing almost exponentially, worse and worse by the second. There he is, in the corner, nodding along to the terrible music, talking to some blokes on the Quidditch team. There’s a cup in his hand. 

Mary doesn’t want to talk to him if he’s been drinking. She doesn’t want to be alone in the dorm. Being anywhere or doing anything sounds frightening, except there are tears pressing against her throat, and someone brushes by her wearing what seems like a fairy costume, with a glittery dress and big wings. The wings knock into Mary and she flinches away quite hard. No one notices. She stands up and the room spins.

And there is music playing and it’s too loud, and Mary can’t make out any of the words, and she is surrounded by people and at the same time overwhelmed, and she is afraid, and she’s sweating because it’s so hot, and she’s dizzy with fear and nausea, and it’s all too much. Mary pushes through to Lily and James, grabs Lily by the arm, and there are tears falling down her cheeks.

“Mary, what’s wrong?” Lily has to shout to be heard. James looks at her worriedly.

“I can’t- I don’t.” Mary gasps for breath. She needs Sirius, but she can’t talk to him if he’s drunk. “I don’t know what to do.” Lily says something to James and Mary can’t hear anymore. All of the sounds are an awful blur. Everything is red or gold or orange or black. There’s so much going on at once, and Lily drags her through a crowd, and the sensation of brushing by other people makes Mary panic even further. 

And then they’re outside. It’s dark and freezing. Mary gasps for air, detaching from Lily, and taking a few steps across the small courtyard. The world stops spinning. The air smells like snow; frozen and crisp. Mary heaves for breath. For a while, there is nothing else in the world but her and the air she’s breathing in. Everything comes back slowly; where they are, who they are.

Lily stands with her arms wrapped around herself, close to the door leading them back in. Mary wipes away the tears from her eyes. She fumbles out her pack and lights up a smoke before turning back to Lily, an apology already on her tongue.

“Sorry, I just got a bit overwhelmed.” Lily nods but her face is worried.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No, I dunno. I can’t be in there. But I don’t want to be alone. But it’s  _ cold! _ ” Mary laughs a bit and Lily does too, clearly understanding. 

“Maybe we can hang out somewhere else, if you’d like? Me, you, Sirius, James.”

“I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“You’re having fun, James and Sirius are too, it’s fine…” Mary takes a deep drag on her cigarette. It works wonders to calm her nerves. “Where’s Remus, anyways?”

“He’s feeling poorly. Maybe you can go check on him.” That would make Mary feel better, honestly. To look after someone other than herself for once. Lily walks her back into the common room and Mary escapes up to the boy’s dormitory before the loud crowd can catch up to her again. 

Knocks on the door and Remus tells her to come in, not knowing who it is. He’s lying in bed, curled up on his side. Arms wrapped around his middle. When he realizes it’s her, he sits up and Mary can see just by this one action that he’s in pain. Remus’s light brown hair is tousled from lying down, and his thin face is very pale, but he still smiles at her.

“Hi, Mary, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m having a terrible night.”

“Me too.” Remus shifts around, obviously trying to find a comfortable position. He wraps his arms around a pillow to hold against his stomach, and winces. “Happy Halloween, right? Came up here for better company?” Mary only shrugs. She’s having trouble finding words. “Want to put on a record?”

“Want me to?”

“Yeah, go on.” So Mary looks through the boys’ assorted collection of records. James has put them in alphabetical order, and there are small tags on each marking which record belongs to who. Remus is craning his neck, examining the ones that she’s shuffling through.

“I wouldn’t mind-”

“Velvet Underground?” Mary asks. Remus smiles bashfully. So Mary sticks on ‘Loaded’ and sits down on Sirius’s bed while Lou Reed serenades them. “It doesn’t get old for you?” She asks Remus.

“Could never. It’s my favorite album for a reason.”

“True.” Mary lies down. Remus doesn’t say much. They just listen to the music. After a while, he asks, “What made your night so terrible?” Mary sighs, juddering and loud. 

“Dunno. All the people and noise freaked me out.”

“Ah. I know how it feels.”

“What’s up with you?” They’re still lying down and not looking at each other, just speaking to the ceiling in the space of music. 

“I’m just ill.”

“The full moon?”

“Maybe… I’m not really sure what’s wrong. Pomfrey doesn’t either. I usually feel better after the moon, but. Not this month.” Remus’s voice sounds tired. Mary rolls over onto her stomach and looks over at him. His t-shirt is damp at the neck and armpits with sweat, and he’s slumped over again, eyes closed, and he clutches the pillow to his stomach, as though it could somehow soften the pain from the outside in. He looks thinner than he did during the summer. 

“Does weed help?”

“I can’t.” Remus pauses to take a deep breath. When he releases it, it’s very shaky. “I can’t smoke anything without coughing like a fucking maniac. I coughed up blood, last time.”

“Can’t help feeling like you should write your dad about it.”

“We couldn’t even afford medicine.  _ Fuck _ .” Remus rolls over onto his side, arms still tight around the pillow. There’s sweat wetting his hair, matting it across his brow. “Sorry, Mary, but talking about it doesn’t help.” His eyes are still closed like he assumes she hasn’t turned over to look over at him. 

“Sorry.”

“If you want some weed, I’ve got it. Maybe I can get a secondhand high.”

“Want to try?” Remus opens his eyes, realizes that she’s looking at him, and smiles. He gives her a little wave and sits up straight again. He stretches, and she sees red marks along his horribly scarred arms. 

“Might as well give it a go. Come over here.” Mary walks across the bedroom and sits down at the edge of Remus’s bed. He leans over the side of it and comes up with a neat brown box. It contains a jar of weed, rolling papers, and a grinder. Mary watches as he sets to work rolling joints on his bed. Just Remus Lupin Things, she assumes. Despite his sweaty illness, his hands are deft and talented, and he rolls her a very neat joint.

He holds it up to her and Mary is about to accept, except.

_ Fuck. _

Being stoned gives her a fuzzy head, and it makes her tired. Mary does not want to be slow and sleepy alone in a room with a boy. No matter if he cannot get out of bed. No matter if she has known him for years and all he is is familiar, intelligent, and kind. Remus and his quizzical look make Mary feel sick.

“Sorry,” She tells him. “Maybe not, actually.” 

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Remus shrugs and packs the joint back into his cigarette case. They’re collecting dust these days. Mary returns to Sirius’s bed and lies down again. Remus adopts his earlier position. It’s only when Mary wakes up that night does she even realize she’d fallen asleep in the first place. She’s in Sirius’s bed but tucked in. Wearing her same clothes, but someone had taken off her shoes. Sirius is nowhere to be found, but Mary thinks she could trace him across the bedroom to Remus’s bed, maybe.

Mary leaves before anyone else wakes up and spends the rest of the night in her own bed. Tossing and turning, as always. Most nights she waits up to make sure that everyone else has come home alright. Marlene usually tells the rest of them (Mary and Lily, never Moira) if she’s spending the night with Dorcas, and Moira most always sleeps in the dormitory.

It’s Lily who hasn’t been expected to spend the night with any boys, and it’s Lily who Mary worries about when she doesn’t come home the next night. In reality, she had most definitely been with James. In Mary’s paranoid mind, she had been the next Mary in a scandal of mudbloods getting what they deserve.

Only Mulciber has been expelled, but that doesn’t mean Mary doesn’t still look for him in the hallways or has dreams where he does it again and again and again. Lily is at breakfast sitting next to James and she looks fine. 

And still, Mary asks her about it on the way to Herbology.

“Where were you last night?” 

Lily looks surprised, but then smiles. “Where do you think?” Of course, nothing is wrong. 

“James’s?” Lily shrugs and winks. “Up to no good, I’m sure.” Lily only laughs but Mary can see the flush in her cheeks. Mary still waits up for her the next night, and when Lily tiptoes in late, she stops by Mary’s bed, as she’s reading by wandlight but not making sense of any of the words. There’s a wavery tap at the curtains accompanied by Lily’s soft voice asking, “Mary?”

Mary draws the curtains back. Lily’s face is worried.

“Why are you up?”

“Just waiting to see when you’d get back.”

“You don’t have to wait up for me, you know. It’s sweet, but I’m okay.” 

“Right.” 

Lily hesitates over her next words. She looks strange in the darkness of the bedroom, low light. Her green eyes look brown, and so does her hair, as though someone has decided to paint her in different shades than usual. Something less vibrant. It’s how Mary has been feeling for weeks. Like someone has stolen her light. 

“You’re alright, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m going to go to bed. So should you, you know. It’s late.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Night, Mary.” 

Mary listens to Lily get ready for bed. Like a normal person. Changes, brushes her teeth, washes her face. The rustle of her bedsheets as she climbs into them. Mary waits in the darkness. Don’t ask what she’s waiting for; she doesn’t know. Everything feels impossible. The dormitory is dark as anything. Same as the Slytherin one. 

Mary pushes back her own covers and tiptoes across the room to Lily’s bed. She does the same odd tap at the curtain, same whisper of Lily’s name, and the scene is reversed as Lily draws back her own curtain. She blinks sleepily.

“What’s up?” They exchange a few words, enough to get the point of sleeplessness and long nights fearful in the dark, and Lily moves over to give Mary space in her bed. When they were first years and missed home, sometimes they would crawl into each others’ beds at night. And they’d talk wonderful things about their parents and siblings and the best food your mum makes, and the way your room smells. Homesick except this is better, this is  _ Hogwarts,  _ isn’t it terribly amazing?

It’s all ending in a few months. 

Mary and Lily lie with hardly any space between them, face to face. Lily’s eyes flicker in the darkness, still brown. There are dark circles under her eyes. Her hair bleeds brown onto the pillowcase.

“You know Mulciber, how he got expelled?”

Lily’s breathing quickens, just barely. She’s more alert now. “Yeah.”

“It was because of me. It was. Well. Something he did to me.” Their eyes meet. Lily reaches a hand out and takes one of Mary’s own. “He hurt me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Lily shakes her head, eyes haunted. 

Mary says, “I feel like it’s all my own fault. I got drunk. I was with Danny, and then I don’t know what happened and I can’t remember or maybe I just don’t want to. It just hurts and it never feels any better.”

“It could never be your fault, Mary. You have to understand that. Nothing you did could have ever asked him to do that. Not being drunk, or being with Danny. It’s no one’s fault but his own and I hope to god he gets what he deserves.” Mary closes her eyes. “Oh, Mary. I’m glad you told me. Does anyone else know?”

“Sirius.”

Lily sighs, quiet in the darkness. When Mary opens her eyes again, there are tears wavering in them. Lily looks at her and maybe there’s pity in her eyes, more than Sirius ever looks at her with. For some reason Sirius understands more than anyone, this feeling of not being yourself, of having something indescribable taken from you. 

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you told him, too.”

“Me too.”

“I think.” Lily shifts a bit in bed. “I think you’re going to get through this.” It’s not what Mary needs to hear, but at least Lily is trying. “And if you don’t then I’ll always have your back, Mary, I love you. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.” 

“Thank you. Thank you.”

When Lily falls asleep, Mary tries her best to join. But she hasn’t slept since Halloween in the boys’ dormitory, not properly, at least. It’s another long night in the darkness. Protected, this time, by someone else. But still alone in the end. 


	107. [YR 7] Everywhere With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey happy new year! my 2021 has been off to a terrible start but we're 3ish days in so i'll give it some time to steady out lmao. the parts of jily that are described in canon (the date with petunia & vernon and then james & lily going to their wedding) are genuinely so fun for me to write, so here's more of that!

_ home is wherever i’m with you  _

**j**

“We haven’t actually, like, properly done something fun with just us in literal ages. Years. Eeons. Millienia! Hello? Hello? Is anyone listening to me?” 

“Prongs, do you realize that this might have been your own doing?” Sirius shifts positions on the floor where he lies a few feet away from Remus, propped up in mirrored positions on their elbows, scribbling essays that might be the same one or not. They’re long past even using the word ‘cheating’. James is Head Boy, Remus is the world’s worst Prefect, and they have been doing whatever they want since, well, first year if you’re really counting.

“You’ve got Lily, Remus has his lung cancer,” Remus coughs at this for good measure, “Peter’s got Betsy fucking Hollingberry.” Sirius swears. “And I’ve got this blasted essay.”

“And Mary,” Peter adds knowingly. Sirius doesn’t reply to this. “And Betsy’s really nice, though you wouldn’t know, since you’ve never spoken to her in your life.” Still no response. It’s November sixth, the Sunday after Sirius’s eighteenth birthday, and all of them are catching up on schoolwork. 

“And besides, you’ve got the wedding, anyways. When is that again?” Sirius’s newest comment rouses some attention in Remus, who is difficult to distract, and he looks up at James with an expression of perplexion.

“What wedding?” Sirius grins up at James.

“Lily’s sister’s wedding. I’m invited.” Remus laughs sharply and returns to his schoolwork. James shakes his head at Sirius.

“You don’t know when it is?”

“No, well. No! Lily’ll tell me when it is. Do you lot want to go to Hogsmeade, or something, the next weekend?”

“We’re not third years anymore,” Sirius grumbles as he returns to his work. “Nothing’s much fun anymore. Save for partying. Or tattoos. Or drugs.” Remus adds a quiet  _ mmhm  _ after that. He’s been off ciggies and weed for about a month now and James fucking  _ wishes  _ that he would start smoking again, because he’s truthfully really ill, and has been acting quite bizzare as of recent. 

“Or Mary.” Peter says again. 

“Would you leave it with Mary?” Sirius snaps at him. “What’s the bother with her?”

“Nothing! Nothing! She’s just taken you hostage!” 

“She’s my friend, idiot, friends spend time with each other. If you don't shut up, I’m going to go to the library.” 

James sighs loudly but Sirius doesn’t even look at him. His shoulders are tense as he bends over the work on the floor. Although it would be rather suicidal to admit out loud, James has noticed a distinct change in Sirius over these past few weeks. Something about his odd dedication to  _ having  _ to be there for Mary, or just. 

Sirius has been looking after Mary for some reason, and he’s been looking after Remus, whose condition has continued to deteriorate over the course of the year. James can only hope that he’ll see a doctor or a healer over winter holidays. It is not often that Sirius is caught in a situation in which he is needed, whether the needy will admit it or not, and he’s good at being mothering but obviously hates it. 

James can tell just by the harsh scratch of his quill against the parchment. Remus coughs weakly into his elbow. James snaps his gum. The four of them had already had an argument about what music to play while studying, and Sirius had won over all of them by just shouting that they could do it in fucking silence and everyone would be pacified.

So. Sirius had won.

James himself has been drying out his brain through means of Transfiguration text, and has gotten bored nearly to the point of tears, so politely excuses himself to go find his girlfriend, because his mates have decided that the time of responsibility or illness, or a combination of the two is upon them and besides, when is the wedding anyways?

Marlene is down in the common room and has her work sprawled out all over a table. She’s surrounded by textbooks and inkwells hover wobbly about her in the air. She’s lit a candle that smells of jasmine and flowery perfume. In flashing purple ink, there is an illustrated Quidditch match taking place on the piece of parchment in front of her, and she whispers something out loud as a mini Keeper on the paper takes a wild dive to make a catch. 

“Hey, Marlene.” Embarrassed by her apparent distraction, Marlene scrambles to cover up her paper and gives James a tired sort of smile.

“What’s up?”

“Do you know where Lily is?” James would have checked the Marauders’ Map, but Sirius currently has it in his possession for generally undisclosed reasons and James hadn’t been keen on talking to him any more than necessary. 

“Kitchens. Baking.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, Potter, it’s something that people do for an inner sort of satisfaction. Oh, quick question, can you name one type of food that you know how to prepare?” James pauses, thinking it over, and Marlene sighs sadly. “Oh, James, you’re not supposed to  _ think  _ about it! You’re pathetic. Go learn something from Lily.” She pitches a crumpled up piece of parchment at him, and James throws it back at her as he leaves through the portrait hole. 

James whistles cheerfully as he makes his way down to the kitchens. A bad mood can never stick to him for long. James thinks that the longest he’s ever been properly down had been for a few days after losing the Quidditch Cup. Or last year, after Sirius had told Snape about the Willow. Those had been some bad times indeed.

Lily is in the kitchens, as suspected, and she’s not looking at James. Her dark red hair is tied up in a messy ponytail and she’s crouched at eye-level with the counter, examining a strange, cake-like creation.

“Hi Lily! What is that?’

“It’s a steamed pudding.” James peers at it. There’s nothing very enlightening about it. In fact, it looks awfully dry. Despite having lived in England for the grand majority of his life, James is much more familiar with Indian desserts, none of which involve as much baking as British ones do. James knows pudding as  _ pudding,  _ like kheer,  _ proper  _ pudding, and not this cake-like object. 

“Can I try?” He leans in with a fork before waiting for an answer, and Lily swipes the plate away from him.

“Nope! It’s for Mary.” 

Frustrated, James finally asks, “What’s all this business with Mary, then? Did somebody die, or something? What am I missing? Her birthday’s in August, and Christmas is way off…”

“She’s just going through a hard time right now.” Lily puffs a bit in an indirect effort to blow a strand of hair out of her face. 

“If I go through a hard time, do I get a steamed pudding?” 

“Do you  _ want  _ to go through a hard time?” Lily casts a charm that James has never heard before on the pudding, gives him a severe look that says  _ Think about that, huh?,  _ and walks away to wash her hands. James follows behind her. He’s not that interested in eating the pudding, anyways. 

“Only if you’ll bake for me to get me through it.” Lily’s only response is a frown. “Okay, sorry, tough crowd. What’s wrong?”

“I dunno,” Lily begins as she starts washing her hands, “I don’t know, James, things have been a bit stressful recently though I’m not sure if you have noticed given on the fact that your life is peachy fucking creamy while the rest of us are just trying to make it through to the next  _ day _ -”

“Hey.” Lily is scrubbing at her hands furiously and glares up at him. “I haven’t done shit. Don’t take it out on me.”

“I was taking it out on the pudding before you showed up.” Lily slams the sink off and then sighs heavily. “Sorry. It’s just. Everything, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“My dad’s gotten worse. Anyways. Well. That’s why Petunia wanted the wedding now, because November’s a shit month to get married, but she’d wanted him to walk her down the aisle. But he just had a really bad fall and was in hospital, and no one told me until he got out, because they didn’t want to worry me, but I’m worried anyways! I’ll always be worried! Isn’t it crazy how these things work? And then there’s Mary, and being goddamned Head Girl, and being  _ me _ . Goddamn. I don’t want to get attacked next.”

After this breathless, intense rant, Lily just sighs. The energy seems to leave her and she just deflates, putting both hands over her face, and James is worried to hell that she’s begun to cry. Lily doesn’t cry. No, instead she removes her hands from her eyes, looks at James, and says, “Fuck it, I’m having a hard time too. Let’s make cookies.”

The cookies are the simplest thing that Lily knows how to bake: just peanut butter, sugar, flour, and some assorted baking powders and sodas that James is unfamiliar with. Lily casts a heating charm on them and sighs something wistful about how much easier it is to bake in the magical world.

“How do you mean?” James asks.

“Well, at home you have to wait for them to bake. In the oven.”

“For how long?”

“Hours, sometimes. Some things take days to make. It’s a lot more effort than baking it perfectly on the spot, with a spell.” James ponders this. They eat their cookies and talk about things unrelated to the wizarding world. Lily gossips to James about Muggle politics and he pretends to understand what she’s talking about. She talks to him like he’s someone else, like somehow it could help if they were at Cokeworth Secondary State School and had never heard the word “magic” in all their lives.

James has the tact not to mention the wedding until their warm, cookie spell

is broken by their departure from the warm and floury kitchen. 

Whenever Lily talks about her family, these days especially, she gets a tightly bitter look on her face. Her mouth will go small and tight as though she’s bitten something sour, and her eyebrows will furrow. Worrying makes her look like her sister.

So James tries to keep her from worrying.

After he brings up the wedding, though, Lily only looks thoughtfully wary.

“Oh, yeah, it’s the weekend after next.”

“Damn, almost December!”

“Yeah, it’s.” Lily hesitates with that odd, faraway and frustrated look on her face. “... It’ll be cold,” She says finally. Her round green eyes meet James’s black ones, and they steady each other. Lily shivers. “I just can’t imagine getting married in the winter. Can you? A bit dreary, right?”

The wedding, as it turns out, is on a rather dreary day. 

It’s raining and gently, so at least neither of them are soaked as they run from their Apparition point down the drizzly streets. They had Apparated from Hogsmeade to the hotel in London where Lily’s family is staying. James had been subjected to brunch with Lily’s parents, which had subsequently been a success and also a horror. 

Once past the relationship formalities and meeting Lily’s father for the first time, Lily’s mother gets unnecessarily weepy about how her eldest daughter is getting married, and Lily provides some weak comforts. It’s only when Violet asks, “Will it be you two next?” that Lily’s face goes bright red and Richard tells everyone that there’s really no need to be getting ahead of themselves. 

James makes some comment about how his cousin Priya’s wedding lasted for about five days straight, and Violet asks him all about his ‘heritage’ and the way they do weddings at ‘home’. James does not hasten to tell her that he’s honestly just as British as she is, and instead gives in, telling them about having to wear a pink sherwani and the Joota Chupai prank. No one really seems to understand, but James doesn’t mind.

Violet asks James if he’ll have a wedding of that caliber and Lily turns red while James shrugs and tells her that he’s never really thought about it.

There are some good parts of the afternoon, like how Lily wears deep red lipstick that matches her hair. She is not a bridesmaid and hates Petunia for it, and James sits by her side during the ceremony feeling incredibly out of place in this church in London, filled with white people who keep  _ staring  _ at him. James tries to flatten his hair again and Lily grabs his arm, bringing it down to his side.

“Stop it, there’s no fixing it.”

“People keep  _ looking  _ at me,” James whispers, glancing around and making eye contact with a fearsome looking woman with puffy blonde hair who must belong to Vernon’s side of the family. James ducks his head and turns to look at Lily, whose expression is apologetic. 

“Just ignore them,” She whispers back. “You can make a good impression during the reception.” This does cheer James up. The ceremony starts soon, and everyone’s attention is directed somewhere other than the random brown boy sitting next to the bride-to-be’s younger sister. 

Petunia Evans can’t even clean up nice. Her face looks pulled tight as she walks down the aisle, arm in arm with her exhausted looking father. Lily, James, and Violet are all in the first row, although James sits on the edge of the pew and as far out of sight as he can manage. Violet grabs onto Lily’s hand and wipes at her tearful eyes as Richard gives Petunia away. 

“She looks a bit nauseous, doesn't she?” James whispers to Lily, who shushes him. Her hand is still laced with his. Vernon and Petunia are looking at each other somewhat interestedly at the altar while the officiant rambles about the responsibility of marriage. The vows are terribly dry. The two of them exchange rings and then a kiss so prim and quick that James nearly misses it. People start cheering and clapping and Lily’s mum blows her nose so hard that it honks.

“I present to you, Vernon and Petunia Dursley!” James claps along even though it involves letting go of Lily’s hand. Vernon and Petunia walk back up the aisle hand in hand while everyone in the church cheers for them. James wolf whistles just for good measure and Lily shoots him a grin. 

They then relocate to the reception hall. It’s twenty blocks away and James and Lily walk it, because the atmosphere is suffocating to James and grating to Lily. She looks gorgeous, even in the dull rain. Her dress is a warm green shade that falls down around her ankles, where she wears chunky brown heels. The top of the dress and short sleeves are flowery lace, and James can see the sharp cut of her collarbones beneath it. 

James himself is wearing dress robes because it had been too late to find a suit, and that might be another reason people are staring. James’s robes are a deep red shade, and his bowtie is striped in colors that flash and change. He had taken the charm off for the wedding, and loosens the tie as they walk through London. Lily is wearing his dark brown cloak over her dress that is too thin for the chilly weather and James shivers as the foggy drizzle settles in the form of moisture over his out of place clothes. 

“Are wizarding weddings any different?” Lily asks as she wobbles around a big puddle in the street. She’s unsteady in her heels and still shorter than James despite them, so he deems them quite unnecessary. 

“Oh, not really. There’s just more… magic.”

“More than this one, I’m sure.” Lily grumbles, and James just laughs. “We’d have a strange wedding, wouldn’t we?”

“If this is an indirect question about whether we’d have a Hindi wedding, the answer is no.”

“Noted.” 

“I think it would be more Sirius’s style. There’s an entire day dedicated to the groom, with music and dancing, hours of the stuff…” James trails off when he realizes that Sirius isn’t going to be marrying anyone anytime soon. “Anyways. I’ll leave the drama to him.” 

“And we aren’t getting married,” Lily tells him rather quickly.

“No, we aren’t.” Lily steps into a puddle and shrieks before laughing, apologizing for being such a girl, and James offers to give her a piggyback the rest of the way. They walk two more blocks before she takes him up on the offer. 

Lily slides off of James’s back as they arrive at the hotel where the reception is being held. She presents him with his cloak, but he only folds it over his arm. Dancing with a cloak on won’t work. They stand out of the way of rain under the awning and Lily frowns at herself in a compact mirror.

She reapplies her lipstick and plays with her hair. Dorcas had cut it over the summer and it looks rather dashing, if a bit grown out; there’s feathery bangs over her eyes and the rest of her hair puffs out around her shoulders. James smiles at her, and she smiles back brightly. 

“Behave yourself, okay? No bragging about your broomstick or breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”

“But you  _ know  _ it’s my favorite thing to do.” Lily just rolls her eyes and heads inside. 

Lily goes to congratulate Petunia and Vernon while James hovers awkwardly behind them. Both Petunia and Vernon seem to be aware of his presence, and neither of them have anything but a curt “thank you” to say in response to his own, if somewhat overdramatic, congratulations. They have their first dance before very long, and James snickers to Lily about how Vernon trips over his own feet and stomps on Petunia’s.

They’ve all been assigned to tables that James assumes Petunia has slaved over to make sure that Lily and James can be as far away from anyone easy to offend. Which puts them at the kids table. Literally. Assorted bored looking teenagers and a few younger kids, some of whom Lily knows and some who she doesn’t. James is alright with kids, but doesn’t appreciate some woman telling him that she’s so glad he’ll be looking after her little Timmy before being whisked away by some older woman on Vernon’s side of the family; both of them smelling of drink.

So James cuts up little Timmy’s dinner for him but draws the line at feeding him, and the little boy whines and grizzles before Lily tells him to be quiet and eat, because the food  _ is  _ really good, and so Timmy tries it. 

“I can’t believe we’re fucking babysitting at my sister’s wedding,” Lily growls to James, who swats at her and whisper-shouts, “Language!” 

“Look at all of them, fat and happy at the family table.” Lily jerks her chin to the table at the front of the room, where Petunia and Vernon are happily laughing about something or other together. Lily and Vernon’s parents are on either side of them, and James does wonder why Lily herself hadn’t been invited to sit with her family.

Is it because of James? Because he’s a wizard, or the only non-white person at the entire wedding, or just out of place here? 

They finish dinner, and James watches the father daughter dance sort of uncomfortably. Lily’s dad had limped his way down the aisle and is now unsteady on his feet despite the slow tempo of the song. James is relieved when the individual dancing ends. Mostly because everyone else can dance now.

The night is a lot better after a few glasses of champagne and the freedom to swing Lily this way and that. Remus’s dance lessons have clearly paid off; James and Lily move together almost gracefully to the music, twirling and jumping across the floor. They drink, laugh, talk, socialize. James is introduced to various Evanses and each time Lily says something along the lines of “This is my boyfriend, James”, his night gets a little better. 

Whenever Lily goes to use the bathroom or goes to talk to her parents, or sister, or grandma, James feels a little lost. There’s something comforting about having her by his side. Maybe it’s a bit brash to say he feels invincible, but fuck it, he’s been waiting to date Lily Evans for years and now that the time has come, it’s better than anything.

At nine o’clock, they cut the wedding cake. James has a piece and it’s dry, so he lets Lily finish it for him. She has an endearing sweet tooth. Petunia tosses the bouquet at a crowd of women that Lily is not a part of. Some friend of Petunia’s catches it and everyone shrieks with delight; there’s no garter toss because Petunia and Vernon are prudes.

James gets lost on the way to the bathrooms and the extent of his drunkenness finally hits as he overhears Vernon fucking Dursley referring to him as an “amateur magician” behind his back after he asks for directions to the loo. James washes his hands and giggles at his reflection in the mirror, thinking what a bizarre situation he’s found himself in.

He returns to Lily and beams grandly at the sight of her.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” Lily puts both hands on his shoulder and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek; it’s very fast and quite impulsive, and her breath smells like champagne. She beams at him and kisses him again, this time a peck on the lips that James tries to chase with something a little more slow, but Lily has retreated and when James bends down to her height for another kiss, she blows in his face, the way someone would with a dog.

“Aah!” James recoils in surprise and Lily laughs out loud, the sound genuine and unfiltered.

“Hahaha! You should’ve seen yourself! Where’ve you been, anyways, I’ve missed you.”

“Crying,” James tells her, “In the bathroom, and do you know why, it’s because I heard Vernon gossipping about me, and do you know what he called me?” Lily raises her eyebrows. “An  _ amateur magician _ !” The two of them burst into a fresh set of laughter, hard enough that Lily is reduced to tears and bends over, arms around her stomach as she laughs.

“Who knew that this amateur magician made such a strong first impression?!” James heaves out, causing Lily to disappear into a fresh set of laughter. They never really get a hold on themselves, and the whole reception ends around eleven. Lily spends some time talking with her family while James makes use of the  _ super  _ ingenious chocolate fountain before they put it away; dipping berries and assorted little cookies under the chocolate spray before Lily comes and they leave at long last.

It is still raining outside, harder than before. Lily tilts her head back and steps out from under the awning that had kept them dry earlier; she stands with her eyes closed and face tilted to the sky that is up there, far away but there either way, and James follows her into the rain. James thinks that if Lily went anywhere, he would follow right behind. 

Watercolors stain the streets in red, yellow, white. Lily walks into the road, stumbling in her heels, and James grabs her wrist and pulls her back. They stand on the sidewalk soaked through their clothes. The city is thick with a creeping mist and street lamps blur through the darkness. Lily squeezes James’s hand tight and the warmth bubbles up through his body.

“Thank you so so, so very much for coming tonight because I didn’t, I wouldn’t, because going alone would have been bad.” Lily’s slurring her words, properly drunk, and James can’t even remember how many drinks he’s had. “Thank you James!”

“Of course, no problem, I’d do it again.” Lily smiles at him through the rain. James would do it a million times over if he could end the night just the same, in a hotel room, stripping off his soaked clothes while Lily jumps back and forth between the two beds in their room. He turns around to see her crash down on one of them, laughing loudly before covering her mouth.

“It’s almost one, I shouldn’t be so loud!”

“Who’s going to stop you?”

Lily just looks at him with wide eyes. “I don’t wanna get in trouble.” James rolls his eyes. She lies back in bed, hands over her eyes. “Fucking hell, I’m going to have an awful headache tomorrow.”

“Who knew you had such a mouth on you?” 

“There’s a lot more to me than Head Girl, you know.”

“You want to teach me?” Lily rolls over in bed and gives him a  _ look,  _ which could mean many things all at once and then she smiles, slyly, with that smudged red lipstick and a light in her eyes and the answer is yes, yes, yes. 


	108. [YR 7] Take Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooouhghgh wintertime, man. i love this chapter. lyrics are from 'the omen' by camp cope which is a song that reminds me sooo much of wolfstar and is really worth your listen.

_ i’ve loved you since i was seventeen, and for all the things i’ve seen, there’s still some wounds that i need to clean _

_ but let’s move far away from here where we’ll live happily _

_ get some rescue dogs in a house by the sea _

_ and i promise i’ll take care of you if you promise to let me _

**s**

Sirius Black is burnt out. 

December at Hogwarts is full of cheer but this year, the best part of it are those sprigs of mistletoe that bloom and curl out of the ceiling, gossy green and festive red. The only thing that makes him feel any better is the ability to spend time with Remus, whose illness has left him rather tough to hang out with as of late, because he’s either nauseous or can’t breathe or everything hurts.

(Last year, Sirius wondered if he would be taking care of Remus forever. The answer had never been completely deciphered or understood, for any measure, but these days Sirius thinks that he is a caretaker first and a person second. And he misses Remus, also. Misses him like hell.)

It could be wrong to say that Sirius is excited for holidays because he can be around people who are happy and healthy, otherwise the Potters, and Remus can go home and finally see a fucking doctor up in Wales. Sirius does not often need a break, but when he does, it’s because he needs one badly.

On the Hogwarts Express, Remus falls asleep with his cheek squished against the frosted window pane of glass. His mouth forms a little “o” and Sirius watches his small breaths huff condensation onto the glass. At least there are small things in life like this. Watching your lover sleep. Sunsets, although Sirius can’t remember the last one he’s seen. There are things like blue skies, and flowers, and the sea. 

And Remus.

Watching him sleep is watching him in a small place where nothing hurts. His eyebrows are not furrowed in pain. He’s curled into himself, already changed out of his school robes and wearing Muggle things, soft things because the pressure of tight clothes on his body hurts. Because everything hurts. There’s a cane propped up against the window next to him. Madam Pomfrey had given it to him because he cannot walk anymore, not without it. 

Sirius needs Remus to get help. Sirius needs a break from Remus.

They separate at the train station. Sirius’s arms around Remus and Remus only gives him a half hug back because he’s leaning too heavily on the cane. 

“You’re good to get home?” Sirius asks Remus as his boyfriend pulls away first. His face looks grey and exhausted. 

“Honestly fine, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you on Christmas?” 

“Of course.” It’s only ironically awful that the full moon falls on Christmas day this year. Remus steadies the cane under him and Sirius sees his knuckles whiten around the handle of it. He’s leaning very heavily against it. “Let me know how it goes with the doctor, okay? We need you fixed up.” Remus only responds with a weak nod. 

“Take care, Pads.”

“See you.” Sirius watches Remus limp away with Mary, off into Muggle London. Sirius misses him already, but he doesn’t miss today’s Remus with the cane and the hurt look on his face. He misses Remus from the spring and summer, Remus who would always be smiling and moving as though it didn’t hurt. Remus without the joints of a fucking ninety year old who had a sense of humor and roll ups to offer and great stamina in bed. Sirius feels an anxious pressure on his chest as Remus moves out of sight. A hand claps down on his shoulder and Sirius jumps, flinching away hard, and James lifts his hands up. Lily is standing behind him with a quirk between her eyebrows.

“Sorry, mate!”

“... fine, don’t worry about it, I was just distracted. Erm.” Sirius runs a hand back through his hair and forces himself to get a grip. “Are we going?”

“Yeah, yes. Well. Aha.” James shifts nervously and grins at Sirius, who only frowns at him. His own mood is lacking in humor and all he wants to do right now is go home and sleep for days. “Me and Lily were thinking of going into London for a bit to get some food. Erm. Together.” Sirius glances wearily at the two of them. They’re holding hands, united like a wall in front of Sirius.

“Yeah, go on. Have fun. I’m headed home, then.”

“See you there,” James tells him, still looking all googly eyed at Lily. 

“Bye, Lily, see you for New Years’.”

“Bye Sirius!”

Sirius Apparates straight out of King’s Cross. He does not like London much and hardly goes anymore. He only visited last summer to see Caradoc, and he lives far from Islington. Sirius never wants to go back there, not if he can help it. Devonshire feels as far away as he can get, and he takes a great heaping breath of fresh, frozen air as he whirls into the street.

Sirius had been careless with his Apparition point and catches his breath as he glances around. There are no Muggles about, in fact, no people at all. Odd. At night, Godric’s Hollow feels like an old haunt as Sirius wanders through it with nothing but a backpack stuffed haphazardly with clothes and a strange, distant loneliness pulsing at his heart. 

He passes by Peter’s house on his way up James’s street. There are Christmas lights strung about the door and roof that light it up into something bright and cheerful. Sirius stares at it for a moment. They had all left Peter behind upon arriving at King’s Cross, all of them. Remus had been holding back puke for most of the journey, James and Lily had been doing their Head Boy and Girl duties before proceeding to stare into each others’ eyes, and Sirius had mostly been alternating between talking to Mary and Remus.

And Peter? 

They’d told him to have a happy Christmas and then he had gone to find his sister, maybe. Sirius stares at his house a moment longer before shivering and continuing on his way home. The air is cold, here, colder than London but not as bad as Hogwarts. Sirius’s breath puffs out in foggy plumes as he walks down the street. He thinks about lighting up a cigarette but doesn’t want Euphemia getting angry with him for the smell it leaves on his clothes.

Going home to the Potters is nothing like going home to Grimmauld. When Sirius opens the door, Euphemia has already drawn him up in a huge hug of great caliber for someone so short.

“Sirius, love, it’s so good to have you back!” Euphemia used to get this way about James, mainly during first and second year, where she would stand on the train platform and cry rather unnecessarily as he left for school, and would literally sob all over him in her happy spirit of getting him back. Now that she has miraculously been gifted another son, Sirius is subject to all her same treatments. She pulls away, teary eyed, and beams at him before frowning. “What’s that in your ears?” Fleamont has appeared in the hallway too, smiling, but Sirius takes a few instinctive steps back until his bag is pressed against the door. Sirius remembers what happened last time he had earrings in…

“It’s, erm, it’s…”

“Well, that’s sort of tribal, isn’t it?” Fleamont asks, peering closer at him. “In Kenya, certain tribes stretch their ears.”

“Have you joined a Kenyan tribe, dear?” Sirius touches his ears worriedly and stares at his parents.

“Haha, erm, no. My friend Mary offered to help me, they just look sort of cool.”

Euphemia frowns and then sighs. “Well, I suppose, if it makes you happy.”

“And it is popular in other parts of the world!” Fleamont adds. “No need for us English to judge! Would you like some supper, Sirius?” It’s a bizarre interaction to have, one that Sirius is unused to. If his birth mother had caught him with tunnels through his ears, she would have hexed him until he was on the ground and pissing himself like a baby. 

Sirius eats dinner with shaky hands. He is always wary around parents, no matter who they may belong to, especially when he’s alone. After what his mother did to him, he has become less trusting of parents in general. They are capable of awful, horrible things and it makes Sirius scared to think about.

Dinnertime conversation turns from boring to embarrassing in a few neat sentences from Euphemia.

“So, James and Lily, is that right? How about you, Sirius, are you still remaining an eligible bachelor? Any girls in your life?”

“Ahaha!” Sirius takes new interest in his food as his face heats up. “Aha, well. No one serious, you know, I’m not… um, cut out for relationships.” It feels like an awful thing to say, especially when Sirius has been a  _ really _ good boyfriend as of late and received no recognition from anyone for it.

“Don’t sell yourself short! What about that girl Mary? She stretches your ears for you!” Euphemia wiggles her eyebrows and Sirius is reminded unfortunately of her son; his face heats up and he smiles down at his plate. Euphemia takes this the wrong way. “So there  _ is  _ something there!”

“No, no, not with Mary. We dated a few years ago, but she just broke up with her long time boyfriend, and she’s not in a place to be dating, and besides, I’m.”  _ Queer. I’m queer. I’m gay. I don’t like girls. I have a boyfriend!  _ “I’m-I’m just waiting to date, I think, you know. Properly. Especially with the war and all. Erm.” Sirius clears his throat loudly. “Have you done your Christmas shopping yet?”

James comes home after Sirius had escaped an apparently never ending dinner with the parents. Living with the Potters full time instead of week long visits during the summer means that food is plentiful and constant, and Sirius has been spending most of the year trying to lose weight, not gain it all back again. He hates being confronted with any pictures from sixth year because he looked so huge. His chin doubled when he smiled or spoke, and his belly was obviously round.

Sirius looks and feels more like himself this year. Sixth year had been mostly bad for him, when he thinks about it honestly. But when he starts feeling better, it seems like everyone else isn’t even around to be happy.

Except James.

It’s dark and cold outside, but both of them need to take a ride on Ziggy before the day is out, and James waves his wand to light up the garage while Sirius whips the dust-cover off of the sleek dark bike.

“... asked me if I was dating  _ Mary,  _ of all people! I fucking hate my life.”

“You could tell them,” James offers, stupidly naive.

“That’s not really an option.” Sirius and James fall silent as they regard Ziggy. James huffs into the scarf wrapped around his neck and bounces nervously on the balls of his feet. “Ready?” Sirius asks, and doesn’t even need a response. 

It’s as cold as hell frozen over on a motorbike in late December in Devonshire, mostly because it’s so wet outside, but Sirius feels the ice in his lungs freeze into sharp laughter. The adrenaline never gets old. Neither of them wear helmets because they’re awful and young, but Sirius loves the feeling of the wind in his hair. James holds on tight as they tear down dark, rainy motorways. 

Sirius flicks a switch, mutters a spell that he’s working hard on getting down wordlessly, and the bike lifts into the air. Slowly, at first, like the top wheel lifts off the ground and James whoops out loud as though they’re only doing a wheelie. But up and up they go, tilted skywards like an airplane, and James has his arms so tight around Sirius’s waist that it aches. Sirius levels them out before James can slip off the back, and they break the cloud cover to fly under the stars; so clear, every constellation glimmering as though begging to be traced into shining lines.

Sirius flies until his hands go numb even under gloves and there are tears streaking down his cheeks from the wind chill. Back on the ground, James begs them to switch spots, and so they do. James drives them back home slower and more cautiously than Sirius, although they’re still breaking the speed limit. With his arms around James and his face pressed against his friend’s back, Sirius feels as though safety has never been so close and tangible. 

He always feels like this at the Potters. He wonders how it must feel to have lived like this for an entire  _ lifetime.  _

Because when they stumble in out of the freezing rain, cheeks and hands and feet burning as they’re reintroduced to warmth, there are warm drinks waiting. Sirius takes a hot shower and it could have lasted an hour, if he wanted. His bedroom is warm and he sleeps late. The next day there is breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And unlimited snacks! There is joy, and kindness, and family looking out for each other. 

Fuck, Sirius could get used to this.

He only thinks of Remus maybe ten times an hour. Only imagines himself living a life with Remus like this, less lonely. Why are the two of them so isolated? Remus’s only family is his dad and his dog. (Plus a crazy aunt, maybe). Sirius, on the other hand, has no one related to him by blood. Together they’re just alone. Ironic as anything.

Sirius has to go visit Remus on Christmas Day because of the full moon, and subsequently has to explain this to his parents on Christmas Eve. James has gone into town to talk on the payphone to Lily and Sirius had once again been left alone with Fleamont and Euphemia for company. 

Neither of whom are too happy about his news.

“I’m making us a Christmas dinner!” Fleamont says. “You can’t miss that!”

“No, I won’t. Well. Maybe it would be better to have it earlier?” Sirius tries a smile. “Remus, just. He’s  _ really  _ ill.”

“Can’t you go visit on Boxing Day?” Euphemia offers. “Does it have to be Christmas?”

“It’s a family day.” Fleamont explains.

“Yeah, see, I understand that and respect that. But, like. It’s especially hard for Remus. Especially without his mum. It’s awfully empty at his house, and it  _ is  _ a family day, so…” Sirius is not going far enough to suggest that he could count as family. He’s done far too much to Remus in the past few years to be considered anything close to a brother ever again. “Either way, I’m going to go, and I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I’ll be here for the rest of the day.”

When Sirius puts his foot down, it becomes difficult to argue with him. Stubborn. And after a warm and wonderful holiday with the Potters, he Apparates to Mold, where the house will be cold and there might be warm drinks, but no food, and not a gift to be seen.

Wales is a slushy, frozen drizzle. After knocking on the front door, Sirius stands close to it in hope to stay out of the rain, huffing into his hands to keep them warm, and waits for someone to let him in. He hears Luke barking inside. Lyall opens the door with an expression of utter relief on his face. 

“Oh, Sirius, I’m so glad you’re here. Come on in, the weather’s awful.” Sirius is blown in by a gust of rainy wind. Luke jumps up onto his legs, barking and wagging his tail. The poor dog has never been taught proper manners. Sirius pets him absentmindedly as Lyall rambles to him. The house is chilly, as expected, and there isn’t even a Christmas tree inside. No decorations at all. The contrast to the Potters’ is stunning.

“Remus has been really poorly, he can’t stomach anything, can hardly breathe either, has he- was he- was it all like this at school?”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Lupin, he has bron...bronchities? Erm, I dunno. It’s some Muggle lung disease,” Lyall’s face pales at this, “And our matron at school said he needs to see a doctor. I can’t believe you haven’t gone yet!” Sirius bursts out with the last bit only on impulse, and Lyall’s face hardens a bit. 

“Sirius, I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s before a full moon. They would blame all of his symptoms on it. And besides, he feels better after the moons.”

“Not these days. He needs a Muggle doctor.”

“People die in Muggle hospitals.”

“They’re not  _ morgues. _ ” Suddenly, Sirius realizes that he’s being awfully rude. He takes an instinctive step away from Lyall, who looks angry. 

“I’m not trying to assume anything, but you don’t know very much about the Muggle world. People go to Muggle hospitals to get treatment, and they never come back. They don’t get better. Remus’s grandparents, on his mum’s side, they both died in hospital…” Lyall trails off, dragging a hand back through his untidy hair, and his dark eyes refocus on Sirius. “We’ll go to St. Mungo’s after the moon. But that’s all.”

Sirius has the good sense not to argue. He remembers something Remus had said in fifth year…  _ It’s my mum… she’s decided not to have treatment.  _ Remus’s mum had died. Sirius swallows hard. Lyall takes a step back, too. They regard each other for a moment. Sirius straightens his posture and tilts his chin up. Of all the halfway bad parents in the world, it’s Lyall who Sirius is least afraid of.

“You’d better go up and see him,” Lyall says at last. “You usually help.”

As it happens, Sirius seems unable to help. Remus is lying in bed, bundled in blankets, with a puke-bucket on the ground next to him. He’d been lying in the darkness and when Sirius flicks on a light, Remus shouts at him to  _ turn the fucking thing off!  _ in a voice of such painful menace that Sirius nearly bruises himself tripping across the cluttered floor to turn the light off.

“You talk to your father with that mouth?” Sirius jokes, and Remus, who had been curled into a pathetic ball, seems to finally open his eyes. Even in the darkness of his bedroom during nighttime, Sirius can see his eyes shining in the darkness. They realize.

“Shit, Sirius, I forgot you were coming.”

“Hello to you too.” Sirius walks across the room and plops himself down on Remus’s bed, Remus who flinches away from him and moans.

“Best not to touch me, I’m a living breathing  _ ache.  _ Whatever I have is probably contagious.”

“Lycanthropy?”

“This is way more than that.” Remus’s voice is terribly hoarse. Every word tears like gravel in his throat.

“Have you been smoking again?” Remus only shakes his head. “Are you too sick to kiss?” He nods. “To hug?”

“Touching anything hurts.” Wounded, Sirius relocates to the rickety chair by Remus’s desk. Nothing Sirius says can make Remus laugh. His responses are slow and simple, most of them monosyllabic. When Remus isn’t trying to find some words, his frail body shakes with coughs. Or else he just lies there and the look on his face says nothing but pain. Sirius tries his best to distract him.

“Shall we make a list of cities we’d like to live in?” Remus only sighs. Sirius spins around to examine Remus’s desk, testing out a pen on a piece of notebook paper while Remus watches him warily. “Number one- Mold?” 

“Nah.”

“Where else? Liverpool?”

“No.”

“Edinburgh?”

“Why not?”

“Cardiff?”

“Sure.” Sirius writes them down. He looks over at Remus, who is staring at a point on the wall. Slowly, and as though the words are being dragged out of him, he confesses: “I don’t think I’m going to live through the end of this year.” Sirius laughs. He can’t think of anything better to do, and Remus blinks a few times to focus his eyes on Sirius. 

In disbelief, Sirius quiets and asks, “What?”

Remus repeats himself. “I think I’m going to die. This moon, or the next one, or the next. It’s going to kill me. I can’t keep on like this.” Sirius makes a strangled noise. 

“Um, haha… no. No! You’re not going to die!”

“I’m only telling the truth.”

“Well, then.” Sirius splutters. “How would you like your body to be prepared?” Finally, Remus cracks something close to a smile.

“Prepared? What am I, a dish?”

“Well. We can broil you, roast you,  _ bake  _ you! So you can be permanently baked!” Remus laughs out loud and stops a moment later, wheezing for breath, arms wrapped around himself. He shakes a finger at Sirius through huffy breaths.

“Don’t…” He pants for breath, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry.”

“I’d like to be buried by my mum. In the plot.”

“Fucking hell, Remus, we’re not discussing this. It’s Christmas. You are not going to die.”

“...And you can have all my jumpers, and James gets all my records-”

“ _ Remus _ ! James doesn’t deserve your records like I do!” He laughs again, and this laughter turns into coughing, and the coughing turns into choking, and Sirius rushes over to the bed but Remus waves him away. He splutters down some water and gasps for breath. His throat sounds so rough and hoarse that the breath seems to tear him apart. 

“I’m scared,” Remus confesses, “I’m so so scared for the moon.”

Sirius is too. Remus can hardly walk downstairs and he collapses onto the floor in the cellar as Sirius follows behind him. Lyall reinforces the door of the room that they’ve been locked in. It is cold downstairs, but someone has left a blanket covered in dog hair and a pitcher of water. 

Remus hyperventilates. Well. He hyperventilates as much as one person can while having immense breathing problems, but he sits and gasps and cries and seems to have something akin to a panic attack, while Sirius holds him and tells him that no matter what, he will be there and that he is not alone. 

Remus looks up at him with his scarred face crumpled. Tears pour down his cheeks. He tells Sirius that it hurts. Moments later, his face is no longer. His jaw lengthens, gums tear, fur sprouts up on his face, hands, arms, legs, and the clothes he had been too weak to change out of stretch and tear as his body breaks itself over and over again, until he is inhuman. Sirius stares at the werewolf who had only moments before been his boyfriend. 

Then transforms into someone who understands so much less.


	109. [YR 7] It Never Mattered

_ it doesn’t matter who you are or where you work / it doesn’t matter who you are or what you earn  _

_ what matters is what you give and what you love / what matters is how you live and what was learned _

**j**

On December 27th, James’s mum goes down the street to gossip with Peter’s mum. This is nothing abnormal. In fact, it happens all the time with assorted ladies in town, and James enjoys this time because he and Sirius can be as loud as they want without getting reprimanded. Even if it is just being shouted at for a few minutes, Sirius always gets nervous and tetchy, and so he’s as polite as possible when the parents are home.

Today, when Euphemia leaves, Fleamont finds James and Sirius working on the bike in the garage. They’re trying to find a way to turn it invisible while in the air, which is easy to do in theory and much more difficult in practice. Sirius jumps in twitchy surprise when Fleamont rushes into the garage. Remus has been in St. Mungo’s for two days following Christmas’s full moon, and Sirius has been perpetually worried. 

Working on the bike and listening to loud punk music have been the only things he wants to do much of, as of late. 

“Boys, boys!” Fleamont huffs. “I need to talk to you.” Sirius watches from where he’s crouched on the ground next to the bike. “Is now a good time?”

Impatient, James tells him, “Yes, dad, we’re both here and listening to you.”

“Good, well. Good!” Fleamont beams at them. He rocks nervously on his feet, a habit that James realizes he shares, and then his dad says, “We’re having an Order meeting here in a few days and I’d like you two to join.” Sirius stands up now and his eyes are wide as he wipes motor oil on his jeans. “It’s, well. All of the meetings are technically classified and high security, but this is… less. Just some assignments and introductions. Are you interested?”

“Yes!” James and Sirius respond in unison. Sirius’s face looks brighter and more interested now. 

“Good. Grand! I’ve been wanting to involve you boys, and now that you’re in seventh year, it finally seems tangible.” Fleamont rubs his hands together excitedly. “Just don’t tell your mother, okay? She’s having an early tea with Bathilda that day and doesn’t want to interrupt the meeting. That she  _ doesn’t  _ know you’re going to. What are you two doing then?” Confused, James glances at Sirius, who seems to have picked up on what his dad is talking about.

“I’m going to take a  _ very _ long drive on my motorbike on the, erm…”

“29th! Thursday!”

“Yeah,” Sirius responds empathetically, “Thursday’s all booked for me.”

“Me too,” James adds quickly. Fleamont opens his arms wide in a sweeping gesture at the pair of them.

“Keep up that story for your mother, and you’ll be brilliant. Tell your friends that they can come too! Remus, and Peter, and your girlfriends as well.” James gives Sirius a sidelong look but his friend only shrugs at him, albeit bashfully. “I’m very pleased that you want to get involved,” Fleamont continues. “The Order is very important to me and I’m so excited to share it with you.” He rocks up on his heels again. “Okay! I’ll leave you to the bike. It’s looking good! Don’t stay out in the cold too long!” And he rushes out of the garage as quickly as he had entered. James, who had cast heating charms up and down the garage to keep them warm, rolls his eyes good naturedly at Sirius. Thankfully, his friend seems inspired.

“We should write to everyone! Mary and Marlene and Dorcas! They should all come! Hasn’t Dumbledore spoken to them too?”

“Yeah, and Marlene’s definitely committed to joining…” They descend into excited conversation about the upcoming Order meeting. James has been waiting for this for, well,  _ forever.  _ Him and his mum have had countless arguments about joining the Order and James being too young. Well, look at him now! Sirius and James send out invitations to anyone they can think of who might want to be involved. They’d had a brief argument about the implications of inviting Benjy after the death of his brother and father, but Sirius had written him the letter anyway.

James had gone into town for his evening payphone call with Lily and personally invited her to come to the meeting. 

“Oh, ace!” She tells him. “Everyone’s going to be there?”

“Everyone. It’s a real meeting and everything. Tell everyone you know that wants to get involved! Anyone who might take it seriously. I mean, we can’t act stupid or anything. We’re  _ in,  _ now. Well. We’ll be in on Thursday.” James pauses to take a breath and then asks, as an afterthought, “You’re joining, right?”

“Of course I’m joining, you idiot. It’s the only thing to do.”

“Well…”

“It’s the  _ right  _ thing to do. It’s what I’m going to do. What we’re going to do. Together.”

“Yeah. Together.” James shifts against the phone box and tucks the phone against his ear so he can shove his hands into the pockets of his robes. It’s bitterly cold, but James would bear any weather just so he could hear Lily’s voice from anywhere. Wind beats against the phone booth. “And we’re going to win, anyways.”

Lily’s voice is warm when she agrees, “Yes, yes we are.”

James walks back up from the town when they’re done on the phone. He could have Apparated home, but it makes him feel strange and ill, and he’s not quite lazy enough to Apparate that close to home. At home, his parents are reading in the living room and he tells them goodnight before heading upstairs.

There’s music coming from Sirius’s bedroom but it’s not his usual Ramones or Sex Pistols. It’s Ziggy Stardust and reminds James of their second year at Hogwarts. He knocks on the door and Sirius shouts for him to enter. Upon seeing him, James is convinced that Sirius is in a much better mood than before.

Cigarette smoke trails loosely from the edge of a fag that rests precariously on the edge of an ashtray. Sirius is standing close to the mirror on top of his dresser, mouth open in concentration, drawing in eyeliner pencil over his eye. Steady hand, but he’s shaking his hips to the beat of the music. His hair is tousled and he looks dressed up nicely.

“What’s up, Pads, are you going out?” 

Sirius scoffs in response. When he turns around, James sees silver earrings made of chain dangling from the black tunnels in his ears. The eyeliner looks better than it has before which James sees as a positive sign of improvement. His hair is artfully tousled, some of it falling in his eyes. Sirius looks, to be perfectly honest, hot.

“Me? Going out? Only in your dreams, Prongs. ‘ _ Going out’ _ ” He scoffs lightly, shaking his head a bit. “Wouldn’t I love to.” Not a question.

“I’d take you dancing, mate.”

“Cheers, that’s what good friends are for. What brought you here?” James shrugs, toeing the door shut behind him. 

“Dunno, I’m bored. Got time to try out a tattoo?” Sirius first looks excited and then wary. James has been sort of jealous of him ever since he put together his shitty homemade tattoo machine, especially since Sirius has charmed some of the ink on his own arms to move. He’s currently working on a big piece on his leg with Mary’s art advice and Benjy’s tattooing prowess; a scrying ball enchanted with magical ink that flashes and churns like a thunderstorm in the sky but lit up purple, blue, grey, black. 

“I’ve got some white ink, but it’s going to hurt. A lot. I’ve got to give it lots of passes to be good. I can do black, too, but it’ll hardly show.” 

“Go for it, honestly. Do the black.”

“Cool!” Sirius digs up his gun, which has become more gun-like and less pencil-like as seventh year has developed. The gun is obviously amateur and homemade, but the mechanics are fascinating. A mechanic coil has been wrapped up and attached to a pen, hollowed out and filled with buzzing needles that Sirius has attached a small grip to. He starts organizing ink and then comes up with a pen, a real pen, and brandishes it at James.

“What design do you want?” 

James gets a little Padfoot on his arm and Sirius nods approvingly as he draws out the design. He starts tattooing and it sort of hurts, but James grits his teeth and listens to Bowie and the rhythmic buzz of the machine. James closes his eyes for a while. Sirius is taking his time with the tattoo to make sure that it actually shows on James’s dark brown skin; the ink is enchanted and stings oddly beneath James’s skin. 

Ziggy Stardust starts up and Sirius hums the riff happily as he shifts positions, arm braced against James’s. James opens his eyes and looks at his friend, murmuring the words of the song as he wields the gun. Sirius has so much life, so much energy. It’s sad that he’d gotten dressed up to do makeup and dance around the bedroom by himself. He’s been so reserved and serious lately. 

“...Sirius.”

“Don’t tell me it hurts, because it’s not true. Pain is only a construct.”

“It doesn’t hurt. Well. It does. But this isn’t about that.”

“Hmm, what?” Sirius is distracted by the tattoo and by Bowie, and trying to headbang while simultaneously doing a tattoo.

“You know you don’t  _ have  _ to date Moony.” Sirius stops singing but keeps tattooing, just raising his eyebrows as Suffragette City begins. “You deserve to be happy, and have fun.”

“I am happy. Remus is just ill, that’s not his fault.”

“It’s just. I feel like you’re putting in way more than you’re getting out, and it’s not good for you.” Sirius is quiet for a moment. He’s still nodding along to the music, foot tapping in time to the faster song, but he’s chewing on the edge of his lip. “Pads-”

“Even if I did want to break up with him, I can’t do it now. He’s in hospital. That would just be kicking him when he’s down.” Finally, Sirius looks up at James, not touching the gun to his skin. His grey eyes are nervous. “And I love him. So. I don’t mind waiting until he gets better.” Sirius’s voice is a bit shaky as he goes back in with the needle.

The unspoken hangs between them:  _ what if he never gets better _ ?

“And he’d do the same for me, you know. If I were really ill, he’d help me, and he’d wait. It would be really fucking low to dump him right now.”

“I’m only saying. I care about you.”

“I know Prongs, I know. There, it looks about done.” Sirius pulls away and James looks down at his arm. There’s a black dog wagging his tail; eyes bright and tongue hanging out of his mouth. Stupid. He looks a lot like Padfoot. James smiles as Sirius cleans off the tattoo and wraps a bandage onto it.

“Don’t touch it until tomorrow, and then wash it whenever you shower. Shall I do one of you?”

“Of me?”

“A stag.”

“Yes!”

They stay up all night, tattooing and talking. The two of them are still awake when the sun comes out, and Sirius wipes the makeup off of his face and changes into pyjamas as daylight breaks. James eats breakfast, works on his Transfiguration paper, and then goes to sleep around two in the afternoon. He and Sirius reconvene in the evening. They dress in an odd conglomeration of clothes and go for a freezing run that’s only made marginally better by their own body heat.

James hardly sleeps that night, tossing and turning and kept up by thoughts of what the meeting will be like. Not even his usual meditation does anything to help. Morning comes and that means the sneaking begins too.

There are a stash of Gryffindor seventh years Apparating into the backyard of the Potter’s house and then hiding out in assorted locations until James’s mum sets off for Bathilda’s house. James has been watching his friends appear for quite some time now, occasionally running upstairs to his room to push past where Remus and Sirius sit at the windowsill and examine the newest arrivals.

Remus is allowed inside because he’d just gotten out of hospital and is high on pain potions that make his hazel eyes all blurry and faraway. He still has trouble walking, although has brought no cane with him, and rather stumbles like he’s drunk instead of in pain. He’s stubborn and stupid for being here in the first place instead of a sanitized bed at St. Mungo’s, but James would have done the same.

Sirius has snuck in Mary and Emmeline by the time James checks on them again, and Marlene is scouring the wall when James goes downstairs to peer out into the garden; her boots propped on Dorcas’s hands as her girlfriend tries to boost her through James’s window.

“Oi! Lads!” Dorcas turns in surprise and drops Marlene, who has the good sense not to shout, but makes a half-muffled disgruntled yelping noise as she falls into the snow. “My mum’s just left, there’s no need to climb in.”

“No thanks to  _ you _ for leaving us out in the snow!” Marlene cries as Dorcas helps her up. The tip of her nose is pink with the chill, but she knocks James’s shoulder with kind familiarity as she walks into his house with Dorcas right behind her, as though she owns the place.

**r**

Remus sits in a chair in the corner of James’s room with his arms wrapped around himself, sort of wishing that he was still in St. Mungo’s. The pain potions had been nice. The pain had been blurred and turned all soft and wobbly, and Remus felt like he was floating in a big bubble of water, and when the potion had worn down, it had been like the bubble was popped. No air, no comfort, no fucking nothing.

Remus had taken a dosage of potion this morning, and it’s only hours later, but he’s hurting again. And he’s still in that bubble of water. The world around him is watery and odd. He has to focus intently to understand what anyone is saying to him, and has incredible short term memory loss. It feels better to just sit still and tune everything else out.

Sirius has been talking, and is still talking, and it has been a while since Remus has actually understood the words coming out of his mouth. He’s showing Remus his new tattoo, unfinished but the linework is solid and the design looks halfway professional.

“Let me do one on you, Moony, please?” He puts his begging eyes on and pouts his lip.

“No, Pads, I’ve already told you no.” Remus curls further in on himself, wishing that he could disappear. He feels like James’s room is the only place in the entire world and that if he opened the door or window, they would be floating in a huge galaxy, like in Doctor Who. Nothing feels real except for Sirius being annoying and the way the heat is too high in James’s house. Remus feels sweaty and feverish, like he’s overheating.

“Can you open the window?” His voice is drowned out by Sirius’s, interrupting him, but speaking to someone else. Fuck. Remus can hear Mary and someone else talking below the window, and then there’s a load of laughter, Sirius shushing them, and even more peals of laughter. 

Remus’s chest hurts  _ so  _ badly. He thinks that the pain potion must be wearing off. There’s sweat on his brow, and on his palms, and he feels much too hot. He doesn’t think he’s going to be sick. Everything just hurts and it’s hard to breathe. Mary and Emmeline Vance are climbing through the window and giggling together; Sirius giggles too, happy to be talking to people who are coherent and functioning, and Remus forces himself to open his eyes and understand what’s happening.

Mary. Emmeline. Sirius. Himself. In James’s room, in James’s house, in Devonshire, in England, in 1977, in December. 

“Hiya,” Remus tells them. Proud of himself for speaking one not-word. 

“Hi, Remus, you look awful!” Emmeline kisses him on the cheek. “Bad Christmas?”

“Hopelessly dreadful,” Remus tells her knowingly. “Yours?” She shrugs as she takes off her cloak, obviously not wanting to make him feel bad with her own tales of pain-free holidays. Mary says hi too and gives him a box of chocolate and a nice scarf. Remus has nothing for her. The afternoon drags on, but Sirius makes him tea, gives him a few chocolate biscuits, and nicks some of James’s parents’ pain potions to help Remus.

When Lily arrives at long last, everyone goes downstairs while Remus shuts himself in the bathroom and tries to breathe. It hardly works and his hands are shaking no matter if he shoves them into his pockets. Remus feels like a fever, all hot and cold, delirious, tired, trying so hard to pull it together.

When he steps out of the bathroom after splashing his face with cold water, Sirius is hanging about nervously in the now-empty bedroom, waiting for him.

He smiles anxiously at the sight of Remus. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Remus takes a few steps forward and brings a hand to Sirius’s face, then his hair, and his jaw, and he kisses him. Sirius kisses him back soft. He breaks the kiss first and holds his head against Remus’s neck and shoulder, breathing him in. The moment is quiet and intimate. Something they’ve lost recently.

“Alright?” Remus asks Sirius, who steps back and shakes himself out of the lovestruck daze.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m glad you’re here.” Sirius’s blue eyes flicker up to meet Remus’s, and he smiles just by making eye contact. “Ready to head down?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They’re the last people to arrive at the meeting due to their untimely bonding moment. Moody is in the middle of giving some sort of lecture and stops talking as they enter, giving them a hard look. Remus flushes nervously as he steps into the room, ducking his head as he moves to stand up against the wall, next to Benjy who nods at him. Sirius stands right next to the door.

Moody starts talking again, though not after purposefully clearing his throat, and Remus rolls his eyes as Lily makes a judgemental face at him from across the room. She’s sitting by James and Mary. They’re the youngest people in the room, Remus realizes, as he glances around. There’s more familiar faces than he expected.

Hagrid is there, the top of his head brushing the ceiling, and their old Defense teacher, Professor Pollock. The Prewett twins are there, and their older sister Molly and her husband Arthur, and Alice and Frank, standing hand in hand, and Edgar Bones standing next to a pretty young witch that Remus doesn’t recognize. Even Hyatt Ibex is there, on Edgar’s other side.

Caradoc is slouched on Benjy’s other side, hands in his pockets, regarding Moody with cool eyes. He’s a year older than Remus but younger than Edgar’s year. Doesn’t quite fit in either group.And there are older students that Remus had forgotten about or hadn’t kept in contact with. Izzy Adams, who used to be captain for Gryffindor Quidditch. Xenophelius Lovegood, a rather batty Ravenclaw who looks all nervous and twitchy. And Archie Asche, who Remus hasn’t spoken to since first year but still remembers clear as day. 

There are a good number of young people there, Remus realizes. There’s plenty of seventh years there thanks to James and Sirius’s invitations, and most everyone that Remus recognizes are only a few years out of Hogwarts. Remus realizes that he’s been nervously scanning the crowd instead of listening to Moody, and forces himself to tune into what he’s saying. 

Except it’s all very… dark. It’s serious. Moody is talking about people who are currently missing, asking everyone about whereabouts. Remus doesn’t really understand what they’re talking about. 

“Bones, Dearborn, when did you two last see Podmore?” Caradoc stands up a little straighter.

“He hasn’t come back?”

“No,” Moody growls, “He hasn’t.” Caradoc glances across the room at Edgar, who looks worried.

“We split up in Leeds after we were done,” Edgar begins. “I Apparated home.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Edgar and Caradoc shake their heads. Moody frowns and looks around the room. “Caradoc and Frank, I want you to start tracking him. Check his house first.” Caradoc sighs gently next to Benjy, but Frank looks a little more up to the challenge. Moody continues on with assigning people, and his dark, intense eyes focus on Remus and Sirius for a moment. 

“No students are getting any assignments,” James’s dad speaks up from where he’s sitting in the corner. “Not until they graduate.” 

“If you ever need any extra support-” James starts, but Lily pulls at his hand and Fleamont looks at him sternly.

“No students fighting. Not yet.”

Moody seems to wordlessly agree. He double checks assignments, ties up any loose ends from previous missions, and tells everyone to remain vigilant. Fleamont says that they should all be on the lookout for Podmore. They pass a photo around so the newcomers can see his face, and Remus stares down at the photo with a sinking chill in his chest.

Sturgis Podmore winks at him from the photograph. He’s middle aged, maybe in his thirties, with a scruffy face but a kind smile. Remus passes the photo to Sirius, who barely looks at it before handing it away. Moody and Fleamont call an end to the meeting, and it seems to signal the start of a party. 

The Potters are still throwing a New Years’ party in a few days time. Remus can’t believe their dedication to social events. Sirius detaches from Remus to go talk to Gideon and Edgar, and Remus chats with Benjy and Caradoc for a bit before he has to go get some water. He’s still feeling foggy and hot all over. Everyone is happy and talkative. Strange how they’re brought together for a rather serious and sober event, and then they can all get drunk and dance right after. Or maybe it’s just Christmas spirit.

Remus hides out almost inside the pantry and nurses a glass of water for twenty minutes, talking to no one. He wants Sirius and his always-welcome company. Remus thinks that maybe they can go outside and Sirius can smoke while Remus breathes in the second hand. Most of all he just wants to sit down somewhere. Maybe lie down.

He walks slowly back into the living room, where Sirius is engaged in lively discussion with Frank and Alice. Remus can hear them laughing from here, and Sirius is gesturing with his hands. Gideon walks over with another unfamiliar witch, and Kingsley joins them too. Remus hadn’t even known he was here. Sirius stays right in the middle of the conversation (just where he belongs), but when Remus moves up behind them, Sirius’s eyes flicker over in recognition.

Remus takes Sirius’s hand as sneakily as he can and squeezes it hard. Sirius glances at him and Remus releases his hand on instinct, partly because he doesn’t want anyone to notice and partly because his palm is sweating. 

“Alright?” Sirius asks quietly, moving closer to Remus, who is leaning heavily against the wall.

“I need to sit down.” Sirius bites at his lip worriedly.

“I was going to, erm. I was going to go see Fabian and Izzy, and Edgar, and his fiancee! Did you know he’s getting married to Sophie Pender?”

“That’s.” Remus breath hitches in his throat. “That’s great. I’m going to. I think maybe I’ll go sit down.”

“Okay.” Sirius is closer than ever, now. Jesus, he’s so unfairly handsome. Remus only wants Sirius to have fun. God knows that he’s been tired of looking after him like a fucking child, and seeing him relax and come back into his own tonight has made Remus happy. For him, at least. Remus has felt like passing out for most of the night. “I’ll see you later, okay? Have something to eat, or something.” He absentmindedly pats at Remus’s shoulder before setting off into the crowd.

Remus thinks that having something to eat will result in unyielding nausea. He stumbles through the house and his chest tightens painfully as he runs out of breath. It’s all too crowded. People he knows are looking at him, and strangers he had just met at the meeting, judging him, watching him,  _ watching  _ him. 

Remus ducks out onto the back porch, heaving for breath, feeling as though whatever bubble had been floating in, whichever dark waters had happened to swallow him up if only for the duration of this party, it has all been ripped away. Remus is left suffocating and gasping.

“Remus, mate, what’s up? You alright?” Caradoc has been out smoking with Edgar and now peels himself off the wall, a fag burning between his teeth as Remus stumbles away from him.

“Yeah- fine-” Remus bends over, gasping for breath, trying to steady himself. He feels light headed and staggers again.

Edgar walks up next to Caradoc, tucking a lighter back into his pocket. “He’s potted,” He murmurs in a low voice to Caradoc, as though Remus can’t very well hear him.

“I haven’t been drinking,” He wheezes out, finally standing up straight. “Sorry. Whew!” Remus wipes his forehead exaggeratedly, plastering a smile on his face. “Just got caught up in there. And I’m ill.” He coughs loudly and pounds at his chest.

Caradoc’s cigarette crackles as he sucks on it. Edgar just raises his eyebrows. 

“Smoked some skunk weed?” Caradoc asks, wrinkling his nose, and Edgar laughs. Remus sways again, spots flashing before his eyes, and he quickly makes an excuse.

“You could say that. Er. I’m headed back in, actually, but I’ll see you two later?” Remus doesn’t wait for their responses as he rushes back inside, now desperate for a moment of privacy, just wanting to sit down, lie down… He locks himself in an out of the way bathroom and sinks shakily onto the floor. Remus spends a few minutes with his head in between his knees before he lies down. He feels like he’s sinking into the floor. 

Remus lets out a long breath and takes a deep one. Then he loses consciousness. 


	110. [YR 7] No Chance (Recovery)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all. i'm going thru a certifiable Hard Time right now and haven't left the house all year (hahaha) and while sitting in bed all day, all i'm doing is writing. covid anxiety + evil family + winter break = soo much free time. so here's another chapter!
> 
> also im sorry for the big angst fest. i've just been projecting my shitty life onto poor remus and i do cut him a break (eventually). things get (somewhat!) brighter from here on out, and the next part of this series is a lot less emo in the beginning.

**_1978_ **

_there’s nothing to do here, some just whine and complain_

_in bed at the hospital_

_coming and going, asleep and awake_

_in bed at the hospital_

**r**

It would have been funny and it probably will be in a few weeks’ time. Remus considers it a momentary lapse in judgement otherwise known as finally giving in to the melodrama that he’s been aching to make a fuss about for the past twelve years of his life and it all culminates in someone stumbling across him on the bathroom floor at the Potters’ house. 

Remus imagines how he must have looked, all ragged and pale with his eyes rolled back and his limbs being crushed as someone pushes at the door of the bathroom, wondering what’s blocking it, and then seeing one of the Hogwarts kids lying there and barely breathing.

It very well might be a laugh in two weeks but right now it’s embarrassing. Right now it’s lying with your hands over your face, sweating through the papery bedsheets of a bed in St. Mungo’s, trying to ignore your dad throwing the blame in your face as he rants to you like maybe, in his mind, you don’t feel hurt when he says these things.

“...thought of as endangering you for taking you out of the hospital on Wednesday, do you know that? You were the one who insisted.” Remus pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes; it doesn’t help with the pain. “If you hadn’t gone to that ruddy meeting, everything would be fine. You should be ashamed of yourself, Remus. This kind of care isn't cheap either. I have to _pay_ for all those potions they’re giving you, I know how you love the pain potions-”

“Excuse me, Mr. Lupin.” Emphasis on the ‘excuse’, and Lyall finally stops talking. Remus stops acting like a child and uncovers his eyes, because if a Healer is going to shout at Lyall, Remus wants to see the whole thing in color. “May I have a moment alone with Remus?” Lyall scoffs but does not reply. Remus watches him go.

Remus props himself up in bed. His head feels as thick and fluffy as the pillow behind his aching back, but the pain would be unbearable without the potions he’s choked down.

“Remus, I’m Healer Crossan. I’m an expert in treating lycanthrophy,” Remus straightens up at this, “And… I need to explain some things to you.”

“Am I dying?”

Crossan looks shocked.

“No, no.” Remus wonders if this situation calls for a not _yet._ “Remus, we have tried every magical treatment that would be suitable for your symptoms. Other than pain potions and nausea treatment, there is nothing else we can do. There has to be an underlying, chronic condition.” Other than lycanthrophy?

“So I’m hopeless.”

“We cannot help you here, Remus. I was assigned to the case because of your condition, but this is unrelated to your lycanthropy.” Crossan looks regretful as he regards Remus. His hair is black and shot through with grey, and his eyes are kind but tired. He looks plainly exhausted. “I know this may be difficult for you to understand, especially since your father…”

“Since he’d rather have me die.”

“Since he doesn’t seem interested in pursuing more treatment. However. It is advisable that you seek _alternative_ treatment.” Remus is too high to understand the implications that Crossan is forcing into his words. He frowns, trying to focus. 

“...You mean Muggle treatment.” Crossan doesn’t reply. It makes sense. Foggy, confusing sense, as strange as it sounds. St. Mungo’s employees would never promote going to a Muggle hospital over magical treatment, especially in this political climate. 

“I will speak to your father about the necessity for other forms of treatment. I’m sorry, Remus. We’ve tried everything.” There’s twists of panic building in Remus’s throat. He’s going to die here, he realizes. His dad refuses to take him to a Muggle hospital despite how badly he clearly needs it. Crossan leaves the room and Remus curls up on his side in bed. Closes his eyes. His dad comes back in after a while, but doesn’t say anything to him.

Remus goes back to playing like a fucking kid, pretending to be asleep so he doesn’t have to speak to his dad. Whatever progress they had made seems to have been torn down and it’s all Remus’s fault. He could die, or he could shape up and miraculously get _healthy_ , but this in between is wearing away at not only Lyall but everyone. Even Sirius is tired of him. Remus has grown exhausted with himself.

He wishes one of those options would just happen. Maybe one day he’ll die. Maybe one day he’ll get better. But this? This messy in between of unyielding, choking sickness that’s punctuated by brief months of health is not fair. Pretending gives way to honesty; Remus falls asleep behind the headache. 

He wakes up in a haze of pain. A migraine mixed with stomach cramps that rip him apart, and a fever that spreads shakes up and down his body. He cannot breathe. His throat feels like a match striker and someone’s just lit him up. He moans desperately, and something warm and wonderful washes him back to sleep.

Days pass in a blur of darkness and occasional bursts of light that hurt. Remus has trouble forming words and cannot retain any memories of the days that pass. He cries when he has the energy, and sometimes wakes up in so much pain that he screams.

At some point, when the days no longer matter as much as they used to, Remus loses track of whether he is conscious or asleep, under a pain potion or if this is just what the world feels like now. Everything hurts, but the world is also blurry and foggy and sort of… purple. His dad wavers under lilac light like he is simply a projection made of water and there are ripples in the surface. Whenever someone speaks, it sounds like they’re underwater. Unintelligible.

It’s the same for Remus, so he gives up on trying.

Anyways, there are not words to describe the incredible pain that he is in. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It reminds him of the worst pain in the world: moments after waking up from a transformation and everything hurts and you can’t ever imagine getting up. You can only dream of the pain going away. Forever.

The best way to describe it is to use a metaphor that Remus has considered before: petrol in his blood. Today, someone has lit it on fire. Remus is burning from the inside out. He’s uncomfortable because everything seems to be _sticking_ to him- his bedsheets, his clothes, his hair. He doesn't know why. For a moment, he wonders if he’s wet the bed. Or then maybe it’s just sweat. 

Over the day, the pain worsens. Remus’s dad, now indigo, starts crying. Remus himself wonders if he’s dying. He also wonders why he is incapable of being cured, or even _helped,_ while lying in a hospital bed.

They dose him with another potion and the purple turns black.

Remus wakes up suicidal and crying out. When he opens his eyes, things are back to normal (normal being less purple) and his dad is right there, asking what’s wrong, and Remus can understand him.

“You need to take me to a Muggle hospita-ah!” Remus swears. “ _Fuck_!”

“Remus, people _die_ in Muggle hospitals-”

“I’m dying right here!” He screams and his voice breaks over that word. He starts crying. They check out a few hours after.

Then things go fuzzier than ever before. Remus’s world looks like the black and white static of a television. screen and his dad is panicking. They Apparate to somewhere, and Remus stops understanding any words. He loses control of everything. He cannot stand, and can barely sit up straight. He’s in someone’s house. He’s in the hospital. He’s asleep.

Turns out, medicine is a lot easier for the Muggles. 

They hook Remus up to an IV and pump him full of meds that hit even harder than the pain potions, and when Remus wakes up two days later, it seems as though all of his problems have magically been solved. His doctor is a kind old woman named Carol who pats his arm comfortingly when she sees him after waking up.

“Wyt ti’n siarad Cymraeg?” She asks if he speaks Welsh. Last Remus checked, he had been in St. Mungo’s down in London, so this is a new and surprising situation.

“Aye, ie.” Remus croaks out. Despite the harshness of his voice, his throat hurts much less than before. “Ble ydw i?” _Where am I?_

Carol explains it all to him. They’re at a hospital in Swansea (thanks to fucking _Selwyn_ ), and his aunt has been looking after him and also, where are his parents?

“My mum’s dead,” Remus tells her in Welsh. “My dad’s a bit absent. Am I dying?” There’s an uncomfortable brace immobilizing his leg, but other than that, he does feel a bit better. He can breathe fine and his stomach doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

“No, love, you’re not dying but you were in a very desperate state a few days ago, I won’t lie about that. We’ll have you all fixed up in a few days.” Her Welsh is fast and familiar, reminds him of his mum’s. “Ready for the laundry list?”

“Hit me with it.” Remus’s voice is bleary and half hoarse; he wonders if they fix him well enough, if he could by any chance smoke a fag before having to go home. Upon sitting up straight, Remus feels the IV needle bending oddly in his scarred arm. The flash of pain draws him to clear reality.

Doctor Carol tells him about his esophagitis and how his throat was so inflamed that he could hardly eat, which lead to vitamin deficiencies, which sort of led to his stomach lining becoming inflamed, and then she asks if he’s been taking an excess of pain relievers. Remus curses St. fucking Mungo’s and the wizarding world in general before lying to her and saying he mostly takes aspirin if he’s in pain. She lectures him about smoking, tells him he’s underweight, malnourished, and anemic. She tells him that she thinks he has a chronic disorder related to circulation and blood flow. 

And then, his leg.

“Permanently damaged, love.”

“Oh, god. Jesus _shit_. Sorry! How badly is it damaged? Like, is this forever?” Remus gestures at the odd brace keeping his leg straight and stiff. “Because this can’t be forever,” He continues in a voice that begins to hinge on desperation. 

“No, the brace is only temporary. Thing is, you broke your leg a few years ago and have been walking on the fracture ever since. Seems like you dislocated it at one point, too, so the joint is very worn. It’s never going to set correctly because it never had the time to heal. The brace will force you to rest the leg and keep your weight off of it.”

“Will I have a limp forever?”

“No, Remus. Your leg will feel better than before, but it will always be weaker. Your life won’t be truly affected. You might have some pain or cramps in the leg, but that’s all.” Remus moves his leg around in the brace. Carol sighs. “You need to take better care of yourself.” It’s something that Remus has heard enough times from countless people throughout his life, but it has never really struck him as something to take seriously until now.

When the doctor leaves, she’s replaced by dreadful Aunt Selwyn and his little cousin Simon. Selwyn kisses Remus on both cheeks, ruffles his hair, and points at him while talking to Simon.

“Look, Simon, there’s your cousin Remus!”

“Hi Remus!” Simon says.

“Hi, Simon, erm, this really isn’t the best time.” Remus addresses the second half of his sentence to Selwyn. “Where’s my dad?”

“He’s at home.” Selwyn picks up Simon even though he’s four years old and doesn’t need to be carried around, and drops him into a chair. She sits down next to him and starts rustling through her massive purse. “Had to look after the dog, and he doesn’t know how to interact with the doctors because they’re just not on the same wavelength, or that’s what he says. Don’t worry, love, he’s worried about you.”

“He’s not even _here_.”

“But I am!” Selwyn triumphantly produces a chocolate bar from the confines of her bag and Remus is suddenly grateful that she’s there. “Here, have some chocolate. I’ll go get some dinner for you, alright? Would you like anything to drink?”

“If there’s any tea. Thank you.” 

Remus is really and truly miserable on his first conscious night at the hospital. The next day isn’t much better. Selwyn brings hospital breakfast: watery eggs, a small bowl of beans, a few pieces of toast, two shrivelled looking sausages, and a banana. Remus has to eat all of it and spends an hour afterwards sweating and thinking he’ll be sick. His body is so fucking backwards that eating food makes him physically ill.

Then he has physical therapy, where he lies on a yoga mat on the floor and holds his leg above the ground for as long as possible. Sounds simple, right? Remus can barely manage a few seconds and the therapist shouts at him to do better, longer. 

Then lunch and it hurts just as bad.

Remus is bored out of his skull, sore from the physical therapy, and his stupid stomach hurts. When Sion Pembroke shows up with a bundle of flowers and a box of chocolate chip cookies, Remus could kiss him. Sion helps him into a wheelchair and runs through the halls while pushing him, and Remus laughs for the first time in weeks. 

Sion wheels Remus outside. The air is frozen and the sky grey, but Remus breathes better in fresh air, and he is grateful for a friend and the outside world, at least. Sion sits across from Remus and crosses his legs, tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles. 

“I was properly fucking worried, I’ll have you know, and I’m also fuming at your dad. I mean, I stopped by and he was just hanging about at home, told me you were down in a hospital in Swansea as though that’s not an _entire_ country in between you two, with his fucking feet up while you’re down here, alone save for that crazy aunt of yours, bloody-fucking- _dying!_ ”

“Sion, someone had to take care of Luke.” Remus is being stone cold sarcastic, but Sion doesn’t catch on.

“ _I_ could have taken care of Luke!” Sion bursts out. Remus has never seen him this worked up about anything before. Ever. “I hate your dad, mate, I really do. I’m sorry that. Anyways. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that what? Come on, now, don’t be shy about it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“ _What_?” Remus feels more annoying than usual. Something about pretending to be a full fledged Muggle always makes him act differently. It’s surely got to be the lack of any judgement regarding his lycanthrophy; he just gets pitying looks of interest mixed with disgust because of all the scars.

“I’m sorry that he’s all you’ve got!” Sion says this a lot louder than necessary. His face is worked up with anger. “I’m sorry, Remus. It’s bollocks.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine that he doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

“Only he does. He doesn't understand the Muggle- the, erm, just the non-magical stuff. He doesn’t trust normal hospitals. And he’s not all I’ve got, mate, not at all. I’ve got you! And awful Selwyn. And my mates at school, but they just can’t come right now. ”

“I just feel like you’re worse off for living with him. Like, he did nothing to help you. You’re in hospital, Remus, because you’re so poorly, I mean. I’m _worried_ about you.”

“I’m getting better.” Sion crosses his arms defensively over his chest. He looks angry. Remus wonders if this is directed more at Lyall or, truly, at him.

“You need to be careful, Remus. I’m not going to lose you, and don’t make a joke of it, because it’s not funny right now, not when you can’t even walk and you can’t even eat and you’re alone in a hospital in fucking Swansea. I love you and I’ll kill you myself if you don’t try to get better.” 

So Remus makes a promise to Sion. His friend’s strong jaw is clamped tight, his teeth grinding, and his eyes sad and angry at the same time. But he’s laughing by the time visiting hours are over.

“How did you even get here?” Remus asks as Sion shrugs on his jacket.

“Drove.”

“By yourself? It’s four hours!”

“It’s you, Remus. I’d drive all the way to Inverness if you needed help.” Sion pulls his knit cap on and then regards Remus, sitting pathetically in his hospital bed. “Eat the cookies before they go stale, okay? My mum sends her love.” And then he leaves. 

The first few days, it still hurts to eat. His stomach aches whenever there’s food inside it. However, there’s progress. One day, after grueling physical therapy and limping laps around the hospital while his cousin Aoife joined him for company, Remus had felt this odd gnawing in his stomach. Hunger. He’d spent the last few years forcing himself to eat because food keeps his body going, but now he actually has an appetite. 

And he can walk again. On crutches, but his stamina is better than before. He spends hours wandering the hospital. His breathing is still somewhat of an issue, but it’s much better than before. Remus gets out of breath quickly, though it’s after walking or straining himself during physical therapy. He used to get out of breath just from sitting fucking still.

Doctor Carol tells him with antibiotics and steroids, his breathing should improve over the next few months. As long as he takes his medication when he’s supposed to and doesn’t smoke anything. Remus writes down a little schedule of when the medication has to be taken. Carol reminds him of a checkup in two weeks, and to eat at least 1500 calories a day, and to keep exercising that leg. It’s nearly time for Remus to leave. 

And he hasn’t seen his dad in a week’s time. And every night he lies on the stupid yoga mat and does exercises on his leg. Tonight, he’s listening to the fucking BBC to generate enough anger to keep his leg in the air when someone familiar starts calling his name.

“Remus? Remus? Ble wyt ti? O? Ar y llawr, haha!” Remus collapses from his halfhearted position as Caradoc Dearborn steps into his line of vision. “Just where I saw you last, mate!” Remus doesn’t even remember what he’s talking about. The entire Order meeting at the Potters now only remains a confusing, painful haze of a memory in Remus’s head. “You speak Welsh, right? Why haven’t we spoken before?”

“Er, dydw I ddim yn gwybod. Why are you here?”

“Pick a language, mate. Need a hand?” Caradoc helps Remus to his feet. He wears a thick winter cloak over a Catapults jumper, jeans, and his huge scuffed boots. His hair is typically long, and he’s grown a mustache over his top lip. Remus feels like he should have recognized these things at the Order meeting, but no memories come back. “Wow, Remus, you look much better!”

“Was I that bad?”

“Yeah, mate, you really were. And you don’t sound like Darth Vader anymore! Anyways, I’m here to save you.”

“Yeah, can I ask how you found me? Maybe that should have been my original question.”

“Sirius wrote me,” Caradoc tells him simply. He’s gazing around Remus’s hospital room. Other than Sion’s flowers propped neatly in a plastic cup doubling as a vase, the room is clinical and boring. 

“Sirius? Why?” Caradoc’s dark brown eyes slide over the room and focus once again on Remus. 

“He was really worried. He said that your Muggle friend wrote to him.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, he told me that your friend wrote _him_ and said that you were abandoned in the hospital by your dad-”

“-hasn’t abandoned me-”

“-and that you needed some help. So Sirius wrote to me. I’m in town for Christmas, anyways. Visiting the family.” Remus had forgotten that Caradoc’s originally from southern Wales. “He was worried about you going home with your dad. So. I’m your way out? Party at Caradoc’s place!” Remus stares at Caradoc. His friend had been joking around for most of the time, but when he smiles right now, his gaze is a little sad. Pitying.

“Yeah, fuck, Caradoc, I’ll come with you. Thank you.”

“Always got your back, mate. You can kip down at mine for as long as you need. Need help packing?” There’s not much to pack. Remus gives Caradoc the final few cookies from Sion’s mum, casts a stasis charm on the flowers, and shoves all of his clothes into his rucksack. Caradoc tucks the rolled up yoga mat under his arm together they check out. 

Remus doesn’t tell Selwyn he’s left. She can find out for herself tomorrow. 

Caradoc carries Remus’s things because on crutches, there’s no proper way to. They Apparate to London, crutches and all, and Remus has enough trouble banging up the stairs while Caradoc apologizes over and over for living on the fifth floor. The flat is warm and cozy. Caradoc cooks while Remus sits at his table, drinks tea, and reads the letter from Sirius.

_Dear Caradoc,_

_I hope you had a good New Years’ and the Order hasn’t completely taken over your holidays. I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I was wondering if you could help me out with a favor. Remus’s Muggle friend Sion wrote to me saying that Remus was in Singleton Hospital in Swansea. If possible, would you be able to check if he’s alright?_

_His dad has left him there and I don’t know if he even wants to go back home. Sion is worried about him, and so am I. I would go see him if I were able to. Please let me know._

_Thanks,_

_Sirius_

“Damn, he put on his polite voice,” Remus comments as Caradoc pops the top of a beer and slides it across the table to him. “You’re very kind, you know?”

“Cheers, mate, I try my best.” There’s loud rain coming down outside. Remus cannot even imagine sunlight right now, how it must feel to breathe in that warmth. They’re trying to recreate it, these days. Caradoc is a rare one who succeeds at this attempt to make things feel safe again; he cooks leftover goose from Christmas, and plum pudding, and offers Remus fruit cake and Glyfaith toffee. 

Everything tastes wonderful and like home. Caradoc slips back into Welsh after two beers, and Remus does the same to match. 

“Gallwch aros cyhyd ag y mae ei angen arnoch,” Caradoc tells him as he chomps down on his last piece of toffee. _You can stay as long as you need._

Remus responds in Welsh. “I’ll be out of here by tomorrow. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” Caradoc tells him simply. “Ti yw fy ffrind.” He smiles earnestly. _You’re my friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i appreciate any feedback ppl have to give. genuinely keeps me going.


	111. [YR 7] Friends I've Made / Sleepless Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for internalized homophobia by the end

_ with tears in my eyes, i begged you to stay _

_ you said, “hey man, i love you, but no fucking way” _

**r**

Caradoc makes breakfast too. A big fry up; greasy sausage, crispy bacon, soft beans, cooked tomatoes all juicy, buttery toast, and runny eggs. It’s awfully unhealthy and everything that Remus needs in the current circumstance.

“Damn, Caradoc, you’re really good at cooking,” Remus tells him after they finish breakfast. He’s breathless with the feeling of being full, loves it and hates it at the same time, and wishes he could do the washing up only Caradoc has swiped his well-cleaned plate from underneath him and is now humming happily as the dishes do themselves.

Right. Magic.

“Thanks, mate. It’s fun, you know, I like to cook. Chef Caradoc. Learned it from my mam, but Benjy’s taught me all sorts of crazy Korean things as well. Have you heard of hangover stew? It really does work! Anyways. I reckon I could work at a restaurant or summat save that cooking doesn’t help much in the Order.” Caradoc shuts the cupboard hard enough for it to be constituted a slam. 

“Too bad.” Remus watches his friend pace about the kitchen. January light in London is all shades of grey which means this morning is bleak, and tomorrow will be too. Caradoc’s rosacea has flared up and he looks angrier than he is; Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Caradoc truly angry. 

“Yeah, it is. You can come over when you’re done with school, any time, if you want a good meal. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Thanks.” Remus smiles and Caradoc forces one onto his own face. They listen to the Talking Heads as Caradoc sets to work on a complicated looking map, some work for the Order, and Remus lays out his yoga mat in a cleared space by the sofa and practices the physical therapy exercises on his leg. 

In the afternoon, Remus cleans himself up and re-packs his bag. Everything is harder to do on crutches, and when he limps into the living room, Caradoc is talking on the phone. Sitting at the kitchen table with his hair in his face, hand scribbling quickly on a piece of parchment. 

“So he’s- they say he’s- slow  _ down,  _ Frank, I can’t understand you!” Caradoc pauses, looks up, listens intently. “Fuck.  _ Hull?  _ Yeah, I bloody well know, yeah. Have you got the coordinates?” Caradoc scribbles something down and then stands up. “I’ll Apparate in a few minutes. See you there? Okay.” He hangs up, swears, shoves the parchment into his pocket and storms into the living room, where Remus is standing all wide eyed.

“Oh, hey, Remus, I’ve got to go. We’ve found Sturgis.” Caradoc is pulling on his big boots while talking. “Well, I  _ hope  _ we have, it’s all a bit worrisome. Got to go to Hull, of all places. Death Eaters know dismal, huh? I’ve got to dash, oh, are you leaving too?” He finally takes in Remus: his jacket, shoes on, bag on his back. “Great, I’ll lock up.”

In the hall outside the flat, Caradoc puts both hands on Remus’s shoulders.

“Take care, mate, we need you around for the future. Wish me luck!” Without waiting for a response, Caradoc takes a few steps away and cracks loudly into nothing. Remus follows behind him.

Black turns to white turns to grey and Remus gasps out loud as he staggers forward, stumbling over his crutches, trying to gather himself. There’s a haze of mist in the air, Scottish highlands in the winter are even worse than London, and he lets the fog wet his face. Deep breath in, deep breath out. His lungs obey. Remus starts on the hike up to Hogwarts. 

Despite all the physical therapy and the medications and treatment, Remus feels set to collapse by the time he’s limped all the way up to the castle, and staggers past the Great Hall just to see if anyone he knows is inside; he’s hungry but would rather not eat by himself. Remus knows he looks a mess. His hair is sweaty from exertion, his shirt underneath his robes and jacket is stuck to his skin, and he’s leaning so heavily on the crutches that his arms and shoulders ache. 

But Sirius is in the Great Hall, and Remus doesn’t care about anything but him.

Sirius is sitting at the nearly-empty Ravenclaw table with Benjy and Beatrice Carmichael. Remus crutches into the Great Hall, ignoring the eyes of other students scattered across the generally empty tables, wishing that Sirius would look up. Benjy sees him first, smiles and waves, and then tells Sirius.

Remus is halfway there and Sirius bridges the rest of the distance, nearly running to him. 

“Moony!”

“Sirius-  _ oof _ !” Sirius throws himself onto Remus in a huge hug, wrapping him up tight enough to crack the joints in his back, and he is laughing, grinning, hands touching Remus’s face and his shoulders and arms. “Hey, hey, I’ve missed you.”

“ _ God,  _ I’m so happy to see you.” Sirius gives Remus another full body squeeze and then takes a step back, his blue eyes glowing with warmth. “How are you? How’s your leg? Do you want me to carry that?”

“I’m doing better, and yes, please, thank you.” Sirius takes Remus’s bag and yoga mat, and they sit down at the Ravenclaw table to greetings from Benjy. Beatrice eyes him sort of warily but Remus gives her a big smile as he starts filling a plate with food. 

Benjy and Sirius both ask about what had happened and Remus gives an abridged version of events that’s only a little more descriptive than what he had told Sirius in an earlier letter. Benjy wants to know about Caradoc and Sirius doesn’t want to know anything else. Sirius is rather quiet for the rest of dinner, but whenever Remus makes eye contact with him, he smiles gently. 

As they make the slow journey back up to the Gryffindor tower, Sirius asks, “So you’re… things are looking better, then?”

“Better?” Remus huffs. “Er, yeah. I’ve got medicine and steroids and stuff, now.”

“Steroids?” Sirius is moving at the same pace as Remus which means that he’s now standing still while Remus grunts in frustration, arms aching from using the crutches for so long. Sirius hasn’t offered any more help than necessary, which Remus is grateful for. He doesn’t need to be treated like some fragile, wounded thing.

“Yeah, it’s just like medicine for my throat. So I can smoke again!” Remus grins and Sirius doesn’t even try faking a smile, he seems to have fallen behind somehow, and he just sort of grimaces as Remus makes it up to the next stair. “I’m,” He pants for breath, “Serious, Pads, I’m doing better now. Road to recovery!”

“Okay, love. I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Remus is a sweaty wreck by the time they reach the Gryffindor common room. He smacks his braced leg on the wall while trying to climb through the portrait and staggers into the common room, laughing at his own ineptitude, and is almost immediately assaulted by Marlene, James, Lily, and Mary. 

“Remus, how are you?”

“What’s that on your leg?”

“Why are you on crutches? Did you break it again?”

“I’ve missed you!”

Remus can only manage the attention for a few moments; he breaks and tells them all he’s desperate for a hot shower and then a long nights’ sleep, and they all apologize for bothering him. Sirius doesn’t help him up to the dormitory and instead stays down with everyone else. He’s intentionally giving Remus space, room to breathe. Remus loves him for it, and especially how he hasn’t made a fuss about the crutches or the weeks Remus had spent in hospital.

The hot shower isn’t so nice because Remus has to cast a water repelling charm on the brace to keep it from getting wet, yet it still feels weird and unpleasant to have under the water. The brace is heavy on his leg, steadying it and bearing his weight, but Remus can’t wait until he can take it off for good.

And then the stress. Remus had missed about two weeks of classes, and turning up in mid January after a near death experience in a hospital that no one is ever going to hear the details of is not the perfect recipe for catching up on schoolwork. He’s unintentionally ruined the Prefect rota and is miles behind on his final essay. Fucking Robinson, fucking schoolwork, fucking  _ N.E.W.Ts.  _ Does this all matter if Remus is going to war after school ends?

Yes, a million times yes. It will always matter. 

Remus has become a lazier person based only on the fact that he’s crippled by the brace on his leg, which means that the library is too far away for homework and the dormitory is now a Remus-Determined Official Study Space.

This afternoon, James and Lily had been sitting on a floor covered in sticky notes. James had recently been introduced to them by Lily, and it’s safe to say that he’s obsessed. The sticky pads are detailing the Prefect rota that Remus had so helpfully ruined, and he pretends to ignore their thoughtful planning in lieu of finishing the rough draft of his essay on lycanthrophy.

He’s been at it for an hour, now, and another passes. Lily leaves and James cleans up the floor before settling down with his own work. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus sees James glance longingly over at the record player, but he stays put and they remain in silence. Maybe ten minutes later, an owl taps loudly at the glass, and James rushes up to retrieve the letter. Remus feels his patience wearing thin.

The letter is for James and he reads it quietly while Remus focuses on the words in front of him.

_ Lycanthropy can be viewed in the same light as a chronic illness. The effects are long-lasting and difficult to cure. Instead of viewing lycanthrophy as marking someone as a Dark Creature, it is beneficial to instead view it as a chronic illness. (too biased?? ask robinson) _

_ Those with lycanthrophy suffer physical symptoms such as fatigue, muscle aches, and migraines. Depending on the circumstances in which they spend their transformations, they might harm themselves and break bones, shatter teeth, or claw at themselves resulting in lacerations and permanent scarring. These effects are heightened before and after the full moon transformations. Little research has been done into creating potions that may subdue the painful physical effects of transformations... _

“Moony.” Remus is focused intently on his essay, in a wonderful zone of work where nothing can distract him. Not even James. Definitely not James. Or the meeting with the pack after the next full moon. Or what he’s even supposed to  _ do  _ during the full moon, because he’s been trying to think about this and plan it, but nothing is making it any easier. Remus won’t know what to do until he’s caught in the heat of the moment- “Moony!”

“ _ What?” _ Remus snaps, staring up at James, who only raises his eyebrows in response.

“Chill, mate. My mum,” He waves a letter in his hand, “Says that you should try yoga. For your joints and everything. Or maybe for peace of mind! Do you want me to teach you?” Remus is left momentarily speechless. James Potter is the strangest person he’s ever met. 

“Yoga?”

“You know what it is, don’t you? Funny little poses? I can demonstrate!” James leaps up from the bed but Remus waves him off.

“No, no, don’t, I know what it is.” James sits back on his bed a little halfheartedly. “Erm. I dunno.”

“Nothing to do with your pride, mate, it really is helpful. My mum taught it to me when I was younger to calm my nerves. I was too hyper. Maybe I should have kept up with it…” He trails off, apparently lost in thought, and then returns to reality. “But hey! No pressure!”

Pressure is exactly the issue. A few days later, Remus is feeling unbearably tense about the full moon, especially since the only person he’s legally allowed to discuss his plans with is Dumbledore. Maybe he could call Sion and rant about it, but he knows that it’s probably a bad idea. 

Remus does not want to do yoga. It’s fucking embarrassing. He locks himself in the Prefect’s bath and is very much considering swimming laps in the pool before he remembers that he can’t submerge his stupid Muggle brace in standing water and swears angrily. Takes a shower, washes his hair, and storms back up to the common room. James and Mary are chatting excitedly in front of the fire, and Remus hobbles over to them. Mary jumps up to help him but he snaps at her that he’s  _ fine  _ and she recoils quickly, eyes hurt.

“Sorry, Mary, sorry. I don’t need any help.” Usually, Mary would retort and snap something like “that’s clearly evident, huh?” but today she just sits back on the sofa and clenches her hands into fists, tight, releases them, clenches them again.

“Mary’s going to join my yoga class,” James explains. “And so are you. And it’s going to be so much fun.” Remus groans in annoyance while Mary rolls her eyes and James continues. “It’s going to solve all of our problems, once and for all! What else am I supposed to do if I’m not Quidditch captain?”

“I dunno, Head Boy duties?” Remus’s voice is sarcastic and tired.

“Not enough for me. A James in motion stays in motion until, uh…”

“Acted on by an external force?” Mary asks, rubbing her temples. “One day you’ll crash and burn.”

“Today is not the day!” James responds cheerfully. “Alright, lads, come on, honestly, who’s ready to be spiritually enlightened?” 

**s**

Benjy Fenwick is lonely and he’s decided to make it Sirius’s problem.

It started when term began again in January and Remus had been in hospital. Benjy had become a designated person to smoke with and showed Sirius a cool balcony off the side of the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory, and although it requires climbing through a window that Sirius nearly got his fat ass stuck in, it’s a nice smoke spot.

So they smoke together a few nights a week, fags or joints or spliffs. All of the weed is from Remus’s dwindling supply. He’s been selling it off or giving it to Sirius for free ever since it became somewhat apparent that his throat couldn’t handle smoking anymore. Sirius feels not as bad as he should about nicking his boyfriend’s weed and smoking it with an ex-whatever who, these days, sometimes gets flirty and weird. Especially at night.

Remus is back now, so Benjy is apparently lonelier than ever, and captures Sirius after dinner on Saturday night to go have a fag, and Remus doesn’t mind so Sirius goes. There’s no one else in Benjy’s dorm. He climbs out of the window first and Sirius behind him, carefully angling his body and sucking in his belly and squeezing his thighs so he won’t stick, but the windowpane presses hard into his skin anyways, and he tumbles out onto the balcony to be caught by no one but a very strong, biting wind.

Benjy wraps his coat tighter around him. His eyes are red rimmed, tired, black like the color of endings. Black like freshly buried, black like fucking nothing at all. His dark hair is buzzed short. Silver glints from his ears, and the chain on his dark jeans, and the studs of his jacket. Benjy tilts his head up towards the sky and exhales loudly, sounds like his voice is breaking.

“Got a light?” He asks, and Sirius does. Benjy scoots closer to him, shoulder brushing against Sirius’s, and he leans forward while pressing a cigarette between his lips. Sirius leans in and cups his hand around the spark of light that turns Benjy’s face orange, briefly, and then there’s no cigarette and no fire and Benjy is kissing Sirius hard, mouthing against him desperately, tugging at his hair and his shirt and jacket, hands all over, and Sirius pushes him back hard. 

“Hey, hey, fucking quit it, don’t touch me!” Sirius’s first impulse reaction had been that he  _ hates  _ being touched out of nowhere and especially hates it when it’s someone kissing him, fuck, his heart rate is through the roof and Benjy’s looking all raw and manic and fucked. 

“Please, Sirius, you know-” He reaches out again and Sirius stands up fully. The bitter wind hits him full on and ruins his hair, thrashing it into his face, and he pulls it back with both hands. Presses his back against the wall and remembers that he’s not anyone’s but his  _ own.  _

“Mate, Benjy, don’t fucking touch me. Don’t touch me.”

And there are tears in Benjy’s eyes because he needs affection, is dying for it. How does it feel when no one’s touched you in however long because your person, Your Person, is away from you? Does it burn? Or is it like ice, frozen cold, and any affection warms you like a glowing ember? “Please,” He begs, “Caradoc won’t know.” Sirius stares at him with his jaw clenched tight. “We were good together.”

“Remus and I are good together.” Sirius puts it simply. “I’m not snogging you. I’m not someone to just keep you warm at night. Ask fucking, Beatrice, or someone for a hug. Don’t cheat on your boyfriend and don’t ask me to cheat on mine. You broke up with  _ me,  _ Benjy, for christ’s sake. This is pathetic.”

It’s pathetic because Benjy’s wiping his dark eyes and Sirius has nothing to make him feel better. Wonders what Benjy’s thinking, if this is all for pity:  _ Kiss me because my dad died and then my brother died and I’m all alone, kiss me because the world is falling apart and I’m all alone, kiss me because Caradoc’s not here and I’m all alone, kiss me, kiss me, I’m all alone. _

“I’m going crazy, I’m fucking sorry.”

“Here.” Sirius tosses his lighter at Benjy and even in the wind whipped darkness of February, Benjy catches it like nothing. Chaser reflexes. “Smoke a cigarette and fucking think about it all. Pull yourself together. This is seventh year. And you don’t have to say sorry, don’t have to say anything. I like you as a person but not like this. Talk to Caradoc. Break up with him if you’re so tempted to cheat.” Sirius does not stop to listen to anything else Benjy might have to say. He maneuvers himself through the window and walks through the Ravenclaw boys’ dorms, down into the common room, and out and away.

Sirius wants to touch someone and mean it; wants someone to touch  _ him  _ and mean it. He feels Benjy’s desperate lips against his own, and he still tastes like peppermint, but his hands had been so  _ grabby.  _ Clenched in Sirius’s jacket, tangling through his hair, and Sirius feels sick with it. Benjy had touched him like he meant nothing, like he was good to touch and kiss and that’s all. 

Sirius isn’t good at no-strings-attached situations. Sirius’s Animagus is a  _ dog,  _ for Christ’s sake, he’s disgustingly loyal and gets attached after making eye contact with someone for too long. He’s all swirly headed and panicked as he jogs up the stairs to the dorms. Remus isn’t there, only James and Peter. Sirius only just realizes how late it is. Curfew hasn’t applied in years.

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius stares around agitatedly. 

Peter’s response is lazy. “Dunno.”

“You haven’t got the map?”

“He’s not on it.”

Sirius raises both hands in the air. “Is this worrisome to anyone else? Sorry? He’s not on the map?” James stares up at him. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is a sight for sore eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Pads, Moony can look out for himself. We’re adults, now.”

“That’s not- it’s just-”

“He goes off the map sometimes,” Peter continues, “It happens. He’s probably in Hogsmeade calling his mates back home, or his dad, or something. Nothing to worry about.” James nods at Peter and then looks back at Sirius. Both of them ask him in unison:

“Are you alright?”

Sirius knows that he could rant. He knows that he could explain everything that had just happened and that ever since Remus’s hospitalization, he’s been worrying after him like a mother. That’s what mothers do, right? And then the  _ Benjy  _ situation has complicated things for no good reason at all. 

Except neither James nor Peter want to hear about Sirius worrying after his boyfriend. They don’t want to hear about relationship troubles. They  _ definitely  _ don’t want the details of getting kissed by another bloke. They’re not homophobic but they’d rather just…  _ not.  _ See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, so to say. 

No one has ever expressed any happiness about Remus and Sirius’s relationship, not like they have for James and Lily or, god forbid, Peter and fucking Betsy. At best, people try to ignore that they’re dating. No one’s ever called them cute, or talked about them getting married, or even brought up their relationship, for any reason, ever.

Not for the first time, Sirius wishes that he wasn’t gay. If Remus somehow just happened to be a girl, or maybe if Remus had never existed in the first place… Wouldn’t it have been easier? If Sirius and Mary, or Emmeline, or Katherine Inkwood had actually  _ clicked?  _ Because deep down there’s just something broken. The disinterest in girls and the pornographic, insane, awful interest in boys. Sirius just turns away from them. 

Sirius is ashamed. He doesn’t know why it had taken him so long to come up on the feelings that Remus had been talking about since fifth year. Discomfort with coming out, secrecy about their relationship in general. They charm their fucking  _ bedcurtains  _ shut. They publically shag in the Prefect’s bath, and they kiss in the Common Room, and what are they thinking? Just because straight couples can do it, they can? It’s not the same, and why has Sirius been acting like it is?

He covers his mouth with one hand.

“I’m fine. I’m going to bed.” Peter makes a noncommittal sound that might signal ‘goodnight’ and James just watches Sirius with serious intent. Sirius feels weak and shaky. He drags the curtains of his bed shut around him and sits down on the bed.  _ Fuck.  _

_ Fuck. _

Sirius forces himself to take a deep breath; he feels on the verge of something awful and does not have the time for a panic attack to rock his world tonight. He curls up in bed with his hands twisted in his hair, arms covering his face, and focuses on his breathing. Then, just the thought of something brings Sirius instant relief.

Alcohol.

He drops onto the floor beside his bed and rummages around underneath it, producing a bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy leftover from the assortment of celebrations that took place in the fall, mainly Halloween and Sirius’s birthday. He uncorks the top and takes a long swig, and another, and another. It stings a fair bit, but he’s conditioned to choke it down with minimal coughing, and besides.

Burns warm in his throat and down his limbs, legs, hands, chest, heart. It feels fucking  _ nice.  _

Tattoos bleed more when you’re drunk so the scrying ball on Sirius’s leg goes momentarily red round the edges as he buzzes the ink into his skin. His body feels warm with comfort and the stinging ache of tattoo pain is familiar, more than anything. Makes him feel better and damn straight, all of it helps. Sirius doesn’t wrap the unfinished tattoo before he passes out; wakes up and there’s blood on the bedsheets and he’s still all alone. 


	112. [YR 7] Get Me Out Of Here Alive

_if someone bombed heaven, the sky would look like it did tonight, all fractured and outlines_

_get me out of here alive_

**reg**

In the late winter of 1978, Regulus Black finally learned how to lie. 

The first subject of his dishonesty was Minerva McGonagall, during Transfiguration class. Regulus’s Dark Mark had been a writhing, stinging knot of pain and he had told her he was going to the hospital wing because of a migraine. Regulus has lots of ‘migraines’ these days. 

He never went to the hospital wing and instead panicked in the hallway, then the bathroom. Rolled up his sleeve to see the snake squirm all loose and boneless into the mouth of a skull. Regulus’s throat had closed tight and the pain had worsened. With so many students in the school all at once, it had not been a difficult thing to leave in the middle of the day. 

Regulus had only hoped that Kettleburn’s Care of Magical Creatures class had not noticed him sprinting through the snow as fast as his legs could carry him to reach the nearest Apparition point he could think of. The Forbidden Forest. Regulus had arrived at the Rosiers’ estate with wet shoes and trousers from running through the snow, pink cheeked and bright eyed, apologizing. 

He got off with a warning the first time, a stinging hex the next, and a Cruciartus the third. Regulus learns to always have his mask tucked into his backpack, beneath textbooks and food wrappers and loose parchment and a practice Snitch that buzzes around his bag and annoys anyone in a near vicinity. He leans to run faster, to anticipate the burn before it even begins.

Because once it starts, it doesn’t stop, and it hurts very badly. Like being branded with a hot iron. And then comes the pull. Something incredibly magical, and dark, and irresistible. An itch with no cure, a parched throat, a sense of uneasy unfulfillment. When Regulus closes his eyes before Apparating, he never knows where to go. The burn of his Dark Mark and the thriving pull of dark magic in the air always brings him home; brings him where he is supposed to be.

And Regulus never lies to the Dark Lord.

His dishonesty starts with McGonagall and ends with Dumbledore, but there is a story in between them that involves his friends, and his girlfriend, and his parents, and professor Slughorn, anyone who’s ever really mattered. Anyone who used to have a say in his future. 

“Are you alright?” Theodora asks him the night he returns from a very unsettling meeting at the Lestranges’ mansion. “Headaches, again? Or are you running off on your missions?” 

“Interchangeable,” Regulus tells her dully. His stomach aches with hunger, but he’d missed dinner and come in from the bitterly frozen snow with no energy to go find food elsewhere. He’s considering sleeping on this sofa in the Slytherin common room because he’s got no energy left to do anything, much, at all. “Have you got any food?”

“I know how to sneak into the kitchens, you know. Katherine taught me. Do you want something?”

“Do you want to get me something?” Regulus puts on his pleading face and Theodora sighs, patting him on the head as she stands up.

“Only for you, Reg.” Regulus watches her leave and then sits up a little straighter on the sofa, trying to focus on staying awake for now, when Danny Hunter pulls up a chair, spins it around, and sits on it with his arms folded over the back of it. He starts speaking very quickly.

“Hi, Regulus, I didn’t want to bother you with Theodora around but _mate,_ we’ve just had practice tonight and you’ve missed it, and you haven’t made any practices this week, and I know there’s a three practice minimum but you’ve missed every night this week, so I’m just a bit worried-”

“Danny.”

Danny stops talking and instead bites his lip and nervously twists his hands together. 

“I’ve been really busy, and sort of ill, and stressed.” Danny’s dark eyes widen and he nods quickly as though in understanding. “And I’ve been practicing a lot, on my own, in my spare time,” Regulus lies blatantly, “And I’m the seeker so it’s not like there’s team maneuvers I have to learn. I’m sorry that I haven’t been too attentive, but I won’t let you down at the match.”

Danny lets out a long breath. He’s Quidditch captain this year and has a very easygoing demeanor. He’s instilled a three practice minimum, so people don’t have to attend more than three a week if they don’t want to, and it tries to remove some of the pressure off of them. It works, anyways. Danny’s a good captain and Regulus is a shit teammate.

“Alright, mate.” Danny pats Regulus on the shoulder, smiles at him. “De-stress, yeah? Your fifth year was supposed to be the worst one.” Regulus only shrugs in response. He’s not feeling talkative, and Danny gets the picture, telling him that he’ll see him at practice and then leaving him alone. 

As Regulus watches the older boy leave, he feels almost achingly tired. It’s completely wearying. Having essentially forgotten about the food mission that he sent Theodora on, or maybe deciding that it doesn’t matter now, Regulus climbs up to the boys’ dormitory. He only sits down on his bed to untie his shoes, but the bed is so soft, and Regulus is so tired, and then he’s lying down and then….

Then he’s waking up the next morning.

Anthony has charmed Barty’s shoes to escape him, and Barty is chasing them around the dormitory while Evan frowns at them as he does up his tie. Behind an internal sigh, Regulus drags himself out of bed and picks up Barty’s shoes as they race past him. 

“Oh, thanks, Regulus!” Regulus hands them to his friend, but the shoes leap out of Barty’s hands and Anthony roars with laughter while Barty pulls out his own wand to get back at his friend. Regulus shuts himself in the bathroom before he can see what revenge Barty had in mind. Regulus goes through the motions: brushes his teeth, combs his hair, washes his face. Regulus looks at himself in the mirror and last night comes back in full color.

It is not something that he has been trying to dwell on, but by the look on Evan’s exhausted face, his friend has been thinking of it all the same. Regulus and Evan had been the only sixth years at the meeting. Mulciber had been there, and Snape, and Carnelian Selwyn. The finer details are lost in horror, but Regulus knows his plans for Saturday, and they do not involve Quidditch or Hogsmeade or having fun.

Mostly they involve necromancy, something that Regulus had thought himself too weak to practice, but they had cast killing curses on rabbits and squirrels in the yard like fucking dogs and then brought the poor critters back to life. Regulus had too. So he knows he’s capable and it doesn’t make him feel much better. His face is pale in the mirror.

The week doesn’t get any better. Regulus forgets about Quidditch practice and Theodora and anything but how it feels when the Dark Mark burns and how he never knows when it will. All there is for him is a tension that spikes between pure exhaustion and then anxiety. Saturday night creeps up on him and Evan starts looking ill, too.

He and Regulus smoke in the courtyard on Friday night, despite the cold, and they find it difficult to communicate with each other. So they smoke in silence. Regulus shivers, knowing that he’ll have to wear warmer clothes to the graveyard. He tilts his head back as he blows smoke, staring up at the bell towers that hang over them, glowing warm amber into the frigid night. The towers of Hogwarts seem to ride up around Regulus and he feels trapped; a bird in a cage.

He cannot wait to leave and never come back.

“Regulus?”

“Yeah?”

As though Evan had read his mind, he says, “I’m not coming back next year. I talked to Jonothan about it, and my parents. It only makes sense.” It has begun to rain. Cold, awful wet droplets and Regulus puffs on the end of his cigarette before the light in it wavers completely. “Are you-”

“This weather’s awful, Evan, let’s go back in.” Evan scrapes the butt along the bottom of his shoe. “And we’d better leave before curfew, anyways.”

“Regulus-”

“Evan.” Regulus puts a bit of chill into his voice, a commanding tone that otherwise just says _shut up._ He waits to finish his sentence until they’re back in school, out of the rain, only needing to pick up Snape before they can leave. “Wherever you’re going next year, you won’t be alone, so count on that. Come on. We want to leave before curfew.”

Curfew is just another thing that Regulus cannot wait to be rid of. They’re barely on time and Regulus is soaked to the skin by the time they arrive. Grass and mud squelch under his shoes. Mulciber and Rodolphus Lestrange are waiting for them, speaking quietly, and their voices fall when the three students come upon them. 

Regulus has seen Mulciber a few times since his expulsion in October, and he feels wary at every encounter. The rumors of what had happened had risen to rather epic proportions before they had all settled down into something truthful, and Mary MacDonald is never seen by herself. Or in the Slytherin common room; never again. 

Mulciber greets Snape first, and then Regulus and Evan. Rodolphus sets to work telling them what the plan is, and that he hopes they have strong stomachs. Find the freshest graves, he tells them. We don’t want to find them decomposed. 

None of them throw up, which is good, and to be expected. There are reasons that Barty or Evangeline Snyde weren’t invited on this mission; there are special constitutions of those who have little to no trouble desecrating fresh graves and raising the dead. Not in a holy way but in a dark way, in a way that wipes the sun and whatever spirit might have lived inside these bodies. Regulus tries not to look at them as he casts the spells. He doesn’t read the names on the graves, when they were born or when they died. 

They smell and their skin is paler than anything in the world. Like the white belly of a fish. They smell like rot, heavy, wet, and choking. They smell like shit and garbage fermenting in the heat. Evan gags but holds himself together. Once the corpses have legally become _un_ dead, Rodolphus is the one to cast controlling spells on them. Inferi. 

More than five bodies walk out of the graveyard that night, but only five have beating hearts and sickened consciousness. 

Only one has to lie to his Head of House tonight, and his girlfriend tomorrow, and Slughorn once more after he misses the assigned detentions. Then Dumbledore, when he makes none of the detentions, and misses all of his classes for three days in a row.

Despite it all, the Dark Mark keeps burning. 

**m**

Mary MacDonald is still taking everything one day at a time, following Sirius’s advice, and it is making everything pass so much slower than she would prefer. 

She still spends a lot of time with Sirius. He’s her comfort, somehow. When they were younger, Sirius had been arrogant, loud, and annoying as all hell. Mary would have never sought him out specifically to spend time with, except these days, he is only mostly kind and understanding. Just as he’d been before. He waits for her before breakfast and when possible, he walks her to classes. 

Mary makes sure that she’s always got someone. Sirius, or Lily, or any of her other friends. As it stands, Sirius and Lily are the only friends that Mary has shared any details with, and she trusts them both enough not to share the story of what had happened. Mary had debated telling her family over winter holidays, at least her mum or her sister, but had been unable to work up the courage. 

It had been physically painful. Mary had tried it first in the kitchen, where her mum was preparing dinner before Mary’s auntie came for dinner. Cherelle MacDonald had been rushing about the kitchen, complaining under her breath about her husband’s ineptitude for helping, and as it happened, Mary’s dad had been out buying drinks for their dinner and at that point, Mary had wished she had gone with him. 

“Mary, if you have time for leaning, you have time for cleaning. Wash up that bowl, okay?”

“Oh, sure.” Mary started cleaning as her mum settled in next to her at the stove. Cherelle stirred the simmering sauce and licked the spoon for taste, then put it back in the sauce. “Christ, mum, that’s unsanitary.”

“And I don’t like your nose ring, but we can’t always get what we want.”

“There’s a difference between getting germs in your food and some jewelry!” Mary’s mum clapped her fingers together in a chattermouth gesture before bending down to check on the chicken in the oven. 

“Anyways, erm. I was wanting to talk to you.”

“About what?” Cherelle asked from the floor. She opened up the oven and stuck a thermometer into the chicken. 

“Just. Stuff at school…” The mere thought of ‘school’: of drinking with Danny, of the darkness of the Slytherin common room, the wide hallways only filled with threats of attack, and Mulciber all over her, never again. Mary’s stomach wrung itself inside out and she stood at the sink motionless, hot water scalding her hands until her mum stood up and turned off the tap.

“Don’t waste water, Mary. What stuff at school?”

“Oh, it’s just nothing, actually. It doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”

Mary doesn’t know what reaction she had been expecting from her family upon telling them. When she halfway confessed to her older sister Martha as they shared a clandestine spliff out her bedroom window after New Years’, she had not been rewarded with any of the comfort that her two closest friends had given her.

Martha had frowned at her as she pulled the windowpane shut. “What are you saying, Mary? You regret sleeping with some bloke? That’s what you get for sleeping around. We all have some bad shags we’d like to forget.”

“He’s not- it wasn’t- I had a boyfriend, I was drunk. I didn’t really want to at all.”

Martha looked at her, and for a moment, Mary thought that her sister understood. And then she just sort of scoffed and said, “Mary, don’t go getting plastered and then loose with boys. Don’t be the type of girl who asks for it. You’re better than that.”

And that had been that. Mary understands that her mum would have probably said something along similar lines to Martha, and had returned to school with little closure and even less hope for the second term of seventh year. Can it just be over already? And the worst part is, Mary doesn’t even _know_ what she wants. Sirius and Lily know about what happened, and they never talk to her about it because she refuses to even think about it, and nothing really gets better. 

Nothing really changes. 

Lily bakes a lot, because she’s stressed too, and it makes everyone feel better to eat something warm and sweet. Mary sits on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room in late January, consequently a few days before Lily’s eighteenth birthday, stress eating banana bread and wondering if she should organize a celebration for Lily, or if James will have that under control. Maybe they can have a girls’ night sort of celebration and then James can have his own time with her?

“Keep eating everything Lily bakes to make you feel better, and you’ll end up looking like _me_.” Sirius is on a beeline for Mary and her banana bread. He’s in a cheery mood today, a bright look on his face, and he’s wearing dangling chain earrings through the stretched tunnels of his ears.

“Lily’s _never_ baked anything to make you feel better. You know, she only started baking for me. I’m special!” Mary makes room for Sirius on the sofa, and he sits close to her and steals a bite of her bread. “Want some?” Sirius takes about half of the remaining bread and chews with full cheeks, relaxing back on the sofa with his arms stretched out behind him. 

“You look fine, anyways.” She tells him thoughtfully. Sirius is still chubby, but endearingly so, and has lost about none of his confidence anyways. And with a fashion sense like his, there’s really no way to _not_ look hot when dressed in something other than a school uniform.

“I know, I look _fine_.” Sirius grins. “What are you up to?”

“I dunno, sitting here. Eating bread. Where’s Remus?”

“Studying with Lily and James and whoever. Glad I don’t dedicate any time to homework.”

“Right? Same.” Mary hasn’t had the energy to complete her schoolwork ever since October. The free passes from professors have been wonderful. N.E.W.Ts are useless to her. Mary will take them, but has no worries about how she’ll score on them. “What do you think you’ll do after the war? For money?”

Sirius looks surprised and shrugs. “Tattoos, maybe.” He laughs. Mary looks at the ink on his skin; the strange circle on his forearm, a well designed stag above it, the stars around his arms and wrists, and the linework outline of a lion on his upper arm. There’s more on his legs that she doesn’t see so often. “Ah, man, I dunno. I’m not cut out for Ministry work. No desk jobs for me.” He taps his fingers together. “I dunno. What about you?”

“Literally no idea. I could just paint Dr. Martens and make earrings, sell art on the street.”

“Yeah, we could be little merchants. I could make prints. Want to?”

“I’d love to. Where are you going to live, then? Are you staying with the Potters’, still? I was thinking, actually,” Mary shifts positions to look at Sirius face to face, “Maybe we could get a flat together in London! I’m going to get some Muggle job anyways, maybe at a department store, my sister used to do that, and we could split the rent? Flatmates?” 

But Sirius’s face gives it all away. 

“I’m sorry, Mary, but me and Remus were going to… well… you know. Get a place together.”

“Oh, nevermind, that’s fine. Good on you two! I’m happy for you!” Sirius looks pleased but at the same time worried.

“You’re alright with your family, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Maybe you and Lily could get a place together, I dunno.”

“Yeah, Sirius, just forget about it.” Mary feels stupid for bringing it up in the first place. It would have been fun, honest and earnest _fun,_ being flatmates with Sirius Black in a shitty little place in London with space enough for the two of them to coexist as friends, having each others’ backs, and no romantic drama. No drama at all. 

“Mary-”

“Listen, don’t-”

“Mary, hey, you know that there’s so much more to life than right now. You’ll meet new people, make new friends. You’ll get a great flatmate. And make great art, and eat the best banana bread, and we can go to clubs and the most amazing restaurants, and do whatever we want. We’ll be free! Don’t limit yourself to _me_ for the rest of your life.”

“But I like you.”

Sirius smiles but the look in his eyes is only pity. 

“You’ll figure it out, Mary. Your future isn’t about sticking to one person for help. Just take it-”

“-day by day, I know. I know.”

Except tomorrow, Mary sits on the same sofa and eats some pumpkin bread. Just like yesterday. Maybe a schedule _is_ helping. Would she feel worse if every day was open ended and there were no classes, no assorted breads to eat, no friends to bother her in the common room? Mary doesn’t find out.

James Potter is currently making rounds of the common room, trying to convince people to take yoga lessons from him. Once he starts badgering her, Mary gives in rather quickly. She has nothing better to do and besides, James gets so stupidly excited when someone gives in to one of his overdramatized ideas. 

“Remus put me on to the idea, actually,” He tells her as he sits down next to her. Like Sirius, yesterday, only a different person with different plans. “Because he’s all achy and sad.”

“Two words to describe Remus Lupin.” James laughs.

“See? Yes! You need to help me convince him too, okay, because I think yoga will cure him. Once and for all.”

“Can he do it with that brace on?”

“Oh, who cares? And he’s allowed to take it off sometime soon, anyways, because he can’t have it on for the full.”

“Moon?”

James gives her a pointed look. Mary does a better job of convincing Remus to do yoga with her, mostly because she thinks that he’s afraid of her. Which is valid. She shouted at him a lot last year. But he’s in a better mood on the day he’s allowed to take the brace off, mostly because he doesn’t have to crutch around the huge castle like an invalid anymore, and grudgingly joins James’s yoga session on Friday evening. 

James lights a bunch of candles and chatters cheerily to a host of fourth year girls dressed in shamefully short shorts and skimpy bright shirts. 

“You could get away with a leotard,” Mary tells Remus as she duplicates his yoga mat into one for herself. Remus scoffs. Mary tries her best to look fashionable in any context, which might be why she and Sirius get along so well, and she has shown up in her purple velour tracksuit which she had received last year for her birthday. She feels much more dignified than the younger girls who are flushing at attention from James Potter, Head Boy.

Mary and Remus are sitting at the back to give the youngsters a shot at attention. Remus is checking out a horrible scar on his newly-freed leg. The scar warps madly across the skin, puckering across his knee.

“Surgery?” Mary asks him. “Looks cool.” 

“Nothing says ‘badass’ quite like surgery scars, right?” Remus runs his hands back up his mutilated arms, squeezes at his shoulders, and then expels the tense energy into a stretch. James is going on about the ancient rituals of ashtanga vinyasa yoga while some Hufflepuff asks him to speak Hindi for her. Mary rolls her eyes and Remus just smiles, shaking his head.

Once everyone shuts up and they start the yoga, it’s like some blissful connection. Mary follows James’s poses carefully. There are moments after they go through a certain strenuous sequence of poses and then they lie there, flat on their backs, and breathe, and that’s all. Mary stares at the ceiling of this version of the Room of Requirement and breathes.

For the first time since October, she can do it without choking. No hands tight around her throat. The pressure off her chest and body has been lifted. Relief a million times over. They end with a sun salutation; Mary stretches at the end, her back arched, hands over her head and stretching up and forever. She ends in time with Remus in mirrored positions, hands pressed together in front of their chests, breathing steady in time. 

Like the biggest breath of fresh air you have ever taken. When the lesson is over, Mary rushes over to James to ask him when the next one is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a huge proponent of yoga lmao and me and james share the similar struggle of trying to create yoga clubs at our schools. i know it's a sort of meme to tell depressed people to try yoga, but it creates a sense of safety within your own body rather than just your mind, and can be a big help with ptsd as well. anyways that's enough of me for today!


	113. [YR 7] In Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is kinda blowing up rn and i have no idea how/why... but thank you all for reading lol. i'm going back to college tomorrow and i'm sooo happy but if my posting gets slower than u know why. (also??? there's 4 chapters left and yes i'm in shocked denial. literally wtf. when did this get so goddamn long)
> 
> cw for internalized homophobia bcz taking an objective look at the world can be painful

_ sometimes, even in the moonlight, people get paranoid _

_ and even in the sunlight, people don’t seem right, but you’re gold _

_ you’re gold _

_ and bright, and bold  _

**r**

Mary spends the night in the Gryffindor boys’ dorms, getting her hands tattooed. She sits on the floor in her shiny purple tracksuit with a big grin on her face as Sirius stabs ink into her hands over and over again. Remus had given her the lecture on the way back from their yoga lesson, about how it’ll be impossible to get a job with  _ tattoos  _ on her  _ hands,  _ and maybe they’re taking this body-art business a little too far, but Mary had told him  _ bollocks.  _

“These will fade really fast,” Sirius tells her around the chocolate melting in his mouth. The two of them have been steadily working their way through Remus’s chocolate stash under the guise of needing to keep up their blood sugar. “And your skin’s so dark that it hardly matters.”

“You said you’d make them glow!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius bends over her hands so Remus loses his face. Make them  _ glow _ ? “Maybe tomorrow? I’m not going to finish them all in one night.”

“Oh.”

“You can sleep over, if you like.” Sirius still keeps his head bent. Thick black hair falls in his face, and he tries to blow it out of his eyes. Remus knows that there’s nothing romantic between Mary and Sirius and that maybe they’re just the best examples of platonic soulmates in the world. Sirius seems to have a lot of those, James included. (Remus doesn’t stop to consider that maybe Sion is his platonic soulmate.) And either way, Remus wants to be the one to sleep next to Sirius tonight, not Mary, and yet he remains silent because there’s no way to put those words out into the world without regretting them.

Since fourth year, Remus has learned to hold his tongue. And what a load of good it has brought him. 

Mary says, “We should get matching tattoos! Me, you, Remus.” Sirius snorts but Mary pushes, telling him that it’s not a bad idea at all. “Come on! For seventh year, for old times’ sakes. Why not?” Sirius looks up at Remus, his grey eyes curious, asking. Remus shakes his head no and Sirius nods in understanding before turning his attention back to Mary.

“Maybe later on, like. Before summer?”

“Aw, is it because of Remus?” Mary is trapped by her hand being inked so she can’t turn around to address Remus, but still asks him full on: “Remus, why won’t you get a tattoo? Can’t be afraid of permanence, can you?”

No, it’s not the permanence that worries him. Only the pain. He has tried to abstain from self harm for as long as physically possible this year. Call it a New Years resolution. The last time had been back in the fall, digging his nails deep into his arm out of sheer desperation. Makes it three months clean? It’s barely anything. Remus looks down at the faded half moon marks in his forearm. So small and covert amongst the ridged slashes and awful disfigurements of scars cutting his arms into pieces.

And then Remus says, “Fuck it.” Sirius looks up with a bright smile on his face. “Yeah, fuck it, why not? Maybe we should take it downstairs, let these two have some sleep.” Mary and Sirius readily agree, and the three of them tromp down the stairs to the common room. Remus smokes his first fag back out the window and it feels really, exceptionally wonderful. Maybe he’ll have a joint, next, if they’ve left him any weed.

“Should I have a joint?” Remus asks over the sound of Mary and Sirius singing some stupid song together. “Hey? Are you two drunk? Is anyone listening to me?”

“Roll a joint if you want, Moony,” Sirius tells him. “Just mind your lungs.” Remus rolls his eyes and walks back over to them. His leg hurts too badly to drag himself back upstairs to check. “Erm, what tattoo am I getting?”

“We’re thinking sun,” Sirius points at Mary, “Moon, and stars, respectively.” He points at Remus and then himself. “You can have a star, Mary can have the moon, and I’ll get a sun.”

“Sounds good.”

They stay up all night long. Well, until four or five in the morning, and then they crawl back to bed yawning and sleepy, but it had been a wonderful night. Talking, laughing, admiring their new ink with fresh faced adrenaline. It felt like old times. The older they get, it seems, the earlier they go to bed. Remus remembers staying up until two or three constantly during first year, hanging out in the common room playing cards with the girls until Astronomy class, and mucking about after class because they were up late so why not make it later, right?

They had so much  _ energy  _ back then. And now. Could they have ever imagined things turning out this way?

James has given up the role of Quidditch captain to instead pay more attention to his duties as Head Boy. He’s a fucking yoga instructor and is dating Lily  _ Evans.  _ Sirius is a few stone heavier than anyone expected, dating Remus  _ Lupin  _ (not much of a surprise, but still), and does tattoos for fun. Marlene is in charge of the Quidditch team and plays even better than James, Lily has an incredible penchant for swearing, baking, and dating boys she’s claimed to hate since eleven years old... and Mary knows less about the future than any of them combined.

Mary, always so surefire and bright. Their sun. 

Things have turned out differently. 

Remus curls tighter around Sirius, who is fast asleep. Remus has too many thoughts to get any sleep. Besides, sunrise is slowly creeping across the bedroom. Remus cannot wait until he can sleep next to Sirius without any bed curtains charmed shut around them. Free to sleep in a bed without fear of judgement from whoever else might occupy the room. No one else is going to be in their room, not in their flat, wherever they end up. Just them. And it’ll be perfect.

Inevitably, Remus’s thoughts drift to the full moon tonight. He has set high expectations for himself. Lose Padfoot and Prongs right away, quick as possible, find the pack, and spend the whole night with them. Don’t let Padfoot find him, not tonight. Remus wants to transform back into himself with the pack, and he wants to talk to them post transformation, as a human. He finds it the most raw and earnest way to introduce himself to them with real words rather than running wild as a wolf. 

Jesus, that’s  _ tonight.  _ Remus isn’t going to sleep for over twenty four hours. He groans quietly, burying his face in the crook of Sirius’s shoulder where everything is warm and Remus can smell his boyfriend’s hair. He takes a deep breath of the smell of him and is comforted. Everything will work out.

When Remus wakes up, the bed curtains have been drawn back so the room is lit up in liquid gold. Early afternoon and sunlight in January, in Scotland, because today is going to be a  _ good  _ day. Remus lays in Sirius’s bed, watching the sunlight play through plumes of dust flickering through the air, and manifests a bright day. 

Which it is, truly. The day is fine save for the anxiety creeping around Remus’s throat and stomach. He attends all of his classes, eats two square meals, and even manages to get in some library time. He’s decided that lycanthrophy cannot control his life the way it used to. He used to spend ridiculous amounts of time just  _ wallowing,  _ giving into the pain and hurt and misery until it wrapped him up and ate him alive. 

Remus has made the executive decision to stay ahead of the pain. If he has a headache, then he drinks water, has something to eat, and gets a draught from Pomfrey if it gets any worse. There are simple solutions to problems that he’s been too stupid or embarassed to realize until… now, apparently. 

When the full moon rises, Remus is feeling sick to his stomach. He has a fever that makes him  _ want  _ to run around in the frozen January night. His stomach turns itself inside out as he paces around the Shack, listening to James and Sirius talk. The moon rises, moonlight crosses Remus Lupin, and everything goes inside out. He emerges a wolf, nameless. Call him Moony if you like.

Moony knows the tasks he’s been assigned even as a wolf. Padfoot tails him hard through the Forbidden Forest as Moony tries his best to outrun the black dog. Padfoot is loyal and strong, but there’s a generous amount of padding on his soft body, and it slows him down. Not all of it is entirely his fault; Moony ducks and dodges around trees as he flashes through the forest, running Padfoot ragged in dizzying circles, throwing him off.

Padfoot could always follow his scent trail, but Moony is about to make things much more complicated. He can track the wolves himself, and they are deep in the center of the forest tonight. Where the light goes. Moony is nothing but unafraid of the surrounding darkness as he plunges further into the trees.

Once reunited with his pack, Moony forgets all about Padfoot. The forest he’s in is just a forest, not the Forbidden Forest, and Hogwarts means nothing to him. The other wolves greet him with familiarity, as though they’ve been waiting for him. Moony is glad to see them too. They all stay deep in the forest tonight, not venturing out towards Hogsmeade. The smell of human meat is too tempting, and so they hunt in their own area. 

The night is long, but at the same time so short. They hunt a lot. Moony eats meat but avoids the small bones, somehow knowing the consequences it will bring. Some of the younger wolves, including Moony, play and fight with each other. They don’t stay up all night, like Moony usually would. When everyone is tired, they all lie down for sleep. The other wolves seem to have predetermined sleeping arrangements and Moony watches groups of other wolves curl up together. He wants someone to keep him warm.

Whether human or monster, all anyone wants is comfort and safety. Moony sleeps on the sidelines, curled up among the roots of a tree with only heavy moss and dead leaves to make a blanket of. Pulling the earth around him for warmth. Moony falls asleep okay, though. The smell of the pack around him and their rhythmic breathing, the comfort of family, is enough to know that he is safe. 

Remus has never slept through a transformation before, but when he wakes up, he is once again human. And he’s freezing fucking cold. Lying naked on the forest floor, covered in dirt and leaves and smeared with blood that isn’t his own; the sun is wavering over the treeline and Remus forces himself to sit up so he can watch it. He ignores the other bodies around him. Tries his best to ignore the cold, how it settles into him in ways of motion, like his chattering teeth or shaking shoulders. The sun paints the sky pink. Orange, purple, blue. Clouds, mist, and fog all move slowly over the sky and the technicolor sunrise slowly turns this world into something beautiful.

Remus sits and watches it until he’s too cold to think. His brain feels like a block of ice. He looks around. A few others are still asleep, huddled together for warmth, but Remus is all alone and has the goosebumps and shakes to show for it. Then, from behind him, someone says:

“Hey, here’s a blanket. You must be freezing!” Remus turns to see a girl, maybe a little older than him, with wild dark hair all bundled up in a coat and some alarming looking furs. She drops a blanket onto Remus, who hastens to cover himself up the best he can. The girl smiles at his nervousness; her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you some clothes. Camp is back that way.” She jerks her head in the opposite direction of sunrise. West.

Hogwarts is east, but today, Remus is not going back to Hogwarts. He’s not going to morning Herbology or anything afterwards; he’s not coming back at all. He’s doing what Dumbledore had asked. 

“You’re staying, right?” The girl asks as Remus gets to his feet. She’s shorter than him, but not by much, and her expression is only friendly. “We’ve been waiting to meet you in person. Come on, we’ll get you warmed up.” She starts off into the forest and without a reason to protest, Remus follows. 

**s**

“Okay, no offense, but what the fuck?!” James’s breath huffs into plumes of steam. It isn’t too late, maybe ten or eleven, but their night has already drawn to a rather unfulfilling end, as three of them are standing in the Forbidden Forest, shaking like leaves in the wind, wondering what has become of Remus. 

“Can’t you track him?” James shouts. “How did you just lose him? Can’t you smell him?”

“I tried!” Sirius shouts back. “What have we been doing for the past few hours? Trying to find him!”

“He’s with, he’s just.” James forces himself to lower his voice, though it really won’t matter if anyone hears them at this point. They’re in the middle of nowhere. “He’s with the  _ wolves _ .”

“He  _ is  _ a werewolf! They’re his own kind! There’s nothing wrong with joining them…” But even in the darkness, Sirius can see that quiet, fearful resentment on James’s face. Oh, the forgotten prejudices they had almost convinced themselves that they had moved past.

“Those werewolves went to Hogsmeade.” James’s voice is even, serious. “You know what they did.”

“Moony wasn’t with them.”

“I cannot believe that Remus went missing the night of those attacks and we just assumed that everything was fine, that we just didn’t worry about it-”

“He wasn’t  _ there _ !” Sirius screams. His voice echoes out into the frozen nighttime. Peter gives him a strange look, and James stares at him darkly. 

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I went and got him before he could- before they-”

“-before he could run down into Hogsmeade and  _ kill  _ somebody, huh? Why don’t you go get him again? Why don’t you go find him and bring him fucking back, Sirius, huh? Go get your boy?” Sirius takes a step back, and then another, just for good distancing measure. James is implying something hurtful and cruel, not only to Sirius but Remus as well.

“James, Remus is a werewolf. A werewolf. He’s not a special Remus breed of werewolf, a nice cuddly one, he’s just a werewolf. He’s a human and then, on the moons, he’s a wolf. With a pack mentality. Who listens to an Alpha if he’s in a new pack, who will kill if they’re doing it, because he’s not a fucking Animagus with a conscience, he’s a  _ werewolf.  _ We cannot hold him to our standards because he’s not the same, tonight. You got into this knowing that he has the ability to kill. But he didn’t go into Hogsmeade.”

“Where did he go tonight?”

“With his pack, with his family, I don’t know.”

“Has he talked to you about this?”

“It’s none of my business, or any of our businesses.”

“And tomorrow?”

“He’ll figure himself out. We’ll see him.” Sirius takes yet another step away from James and behind him cowardly Peter, who has remained eerily silent throughout this whole affair. Sirius feels as though this is his fault, when in reality, there is nowhere to place blame tonight. From nowhere, Sirius hears an old iteration of Caradoc’s:  _ None of us are to blame, we are a blameless whole!,  _ and then James screaming at him for not being able to take the heat.

Why does someone always have to be condemned for actions that are not the fault of anyone?

Sirius transforms into Padfoot and lopes past James and Peter, not wanting to talk to them any longer. Moony can handle himself and Sirius just wants the night to be over. He wants things to be simple, the way they used to be, when the four of them could run free together and it would be a mix of adrenaline and pure excitement. When had the full moons become a  _ mission?  _ Since when was Remus’s lycanthropy something to be taken advantage of?

Sirius doesn’t talk to either of them for the rest of the night. He showers off the forest and is in bed by the time James and Peter sneak back in under the invisibility cloak. 

Sirius just lies in bed and listens to his friends gossip about him. They could have had the tact or forethought to use a  _ muffliato  _ charm over their side of the room, but maybe the point is that they want Sirius to hear. And he does. He hears Peter refer to him as a ‘nancy boy’, joking about his earrings and eyeliner, and then hears James say: “I thought that was kid shit, you know, Sirius and Remus. Experimentation, or something. But they’re getting a  _ flat  _ together, I mean, they’re really serious about it all.”

Peter says, “It’s bizarre.” 

James laughs. “I’ll say. I’ve been wondering how long they’ll last.”

“Uh huh! And now Remus is off, literally with the wolf pack. Watch him turn out on their side, after all. And Sirius, too. You know it’s in his blood.”

“What do you mean?”

“The dark magic, you know. If he’s ever afraid or wants to bow out, he could just run back to his family for safety.” When the conversation descends down this line of thought, Sirius realizes that he has absolutely no interest in hearing James’s response, and so casts an unspoken  _ muffliato  _ on their side of the room. That’s enough of that. 

Sirius waits tense in bed all night long for Remus to come back. He’d come quietly, so as not to wake anyone up, limping softly up the stairs and then into the bedroom. And he’d twitch the curtains back to Sirius’s bed before he opens them and then folding himself into the warmth. He’d smell like a long night in the forest and something inhuman but raw, but real.

Curling himself up in bed next to Sirius. Breath warm, eyes soft, and then they could fall asleep together and wake up together. To conquer whatever stupid fucking homophobia the world has for them, because it’s so much easier together than alone.

But morning comes, and Remus doesn’t return. He misses the whole day of classes. Sirius is worried out of his mind but keeps his concerns to himself. Classes pass in a daze. Remus doesn’t come back at night, because Sirius stays up all night long waiting for him, and the next morning he’s tired from two sleepless nights in a row. 

Sirius wears no makeup or earrings or chain necklaces over his uniform. He sits quietly at breakfast, and actually takes notes in History to keep his mind off of things. But the professors all call Remus’s name on the register as if expecting him to be there, and no one looks more suspicious than Professor Robinson, who gives them all a rather rude warning on Remus’s account: “Just because you’re seventh years doesn’t mean it’s appropriate to bunk off class!”

Lily speaks up to contradict her: “Professor, Remus is ill. I’m sure you could find him in the hospital wing.” Robinson stares her down but mumbles something grudging under her breath, and they all move on. Except Remus isn’t in the hospital wing and Lily knows it. After class, Sirius follows Lily to the library. He and James are on speaking terms except when they do speak, they don’t have anything very nice to say to each other, and so James hangs back to talk to Marlene and Dorcas while Sirius follows after Lily.

“Do you know where Remus is?” She asks him as they make their way to the library.

“No, I don’t, and I’m thinking of going to Dumbledore.”

“That’s a good idea.” Sirius is surprised by her response. James would have called him overprotective, or something. Would have made fun of him for thinking to go as far as Dumbledore. “But you.” She says. “You have an idea? He’s safe?”

Sirius sighs. “He’s just being stupid, I think. But I have an idea.” 

“What do you mean by idea?” Lily’s eyes are genuine and serious.

“Maybe we should.” Sirius pauses, looking around at the other students moving by them in the crowded hallway. “Maybe we should talk about it somewhere private.”

Sirius takes Lily to one of the many secret passages plotted around the school. Once sat down with her, he sort of just lets it all out in a big messy disaster of word vomit, and Lily listens patiently while nodding at all the right times and sometimes adopting a look of pure, unabashed concern that will fall hard on Remus in the case that he decides to return from wherever he’s been.

They talk about werewolves, then. Sirius knows little about the pack in the woods and Lily even less, but Sirius remembers referring to them as Remus’s family, last night, and thinks that in some space of the world, he wasn’t wrong about that. Remus and those other werewolves, those other  _ people,  _ are all connected by this condition. One that Remus has struggled with since being bitten at five years old. 

Remus had a rough go of it, everyone knows this. His father’s name is written right at the top of the werewolf restriction act. Does this mean that through oppression, discrimination, and countless years spent taught to hate himself, Remus has finally found a common ground with people like himself? And if he has, is that such a bad thing?

“I’m sorry for putting this all on you.” Sirius finishes with a sigh. “Only I feel like such an idiot talking to James or Peter about it, they get all weird about it.”

“Why?”

“Well, because Remus. Because he’s. Because we’re...” After all of the ranting, Sirius is now left at a loss for words. “Because of us.” Sirius swallows hard. “...Do you think less of me?”

Lily looks at him with clear green eyes. There is something in her gaze that expects a response, asks for more.

“For being gay?” Sirius finishes.

And the gaze softens beyond anything. 

“No, Sirius, of course not. Oh my god, of course not. Did I do something, did I say something? I never meant-”

“No, it’s not you.” Sirius feels immense relief. “You haven’t done anything, you’re wonderful. Not you at all. I just, it feels like no one thought it was… permanent. But it is. It’s not some weird phase. It’s my life. It’s the rest of my life, and it’s fucking terrible, but I can’t change it.”

“Come on, Sirius.” Lily first pats at his knee almost awkwardly and then moves past it, giving him a proper hug, and beaming at him with almost over bright eyes. “Come on, now. It’s never made a difference in how I see you. I think you and Remus are wonderful. You two go so well together. I don’t think less of you, and anyone who does can hear what I have to say about it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sirius laughs, relieved but at the same time embarrassed. He hates discussing his sexuality with anyone. And that night, when he’s all alone again and Remus still hasn’t returned from the forest, Sirius lies in bed and meditates on all the awful gay things he’s done throughout his life- the list of which is becoming expansive.

It all seems to catch up with him like a shocking and overwhelming kick in the face. This has been going on for  _ years.  _ Snogging Benjy all those years ago in the broom cupboard or else snogging Remus literally everywhere. In public places, like the Prefect’s bath or the dormitory. Holding his hand in the common room, Remus lying with his head in Sirius’s lap, how they can’t bear to be apart. The open, easy, public displays of affection that Sirius is regretting beyond anything.

Why had he done that?

What on  _ earth  _ gave him the idea that being fucking queer in public was a good idea? Sirius deserves this. If Peter and James want to call him slurs and make fun of him for the makeup he wears, or his weird fashion, or long hair or just the inherent fact that his sexuality makes him an easier target, makes him less than, then let them.

He is what they say he is, he has always been. Weird. Bizarre.  _ Wrong. _

It was all worth it for Remus. For sleeping in the same bed as him. For touching a body that he’d used to hate, hands on those scars torn onto himself, how they’d made each other glow. Sirius would do it all over again for those moments he’s had with Remus.

_ I’m not ashamed,  _ Sirius had told Remus back in fifth year.  _ I don’t give a toss what other people think.  _ He very well should have. Remus has been right from the start. 


	114. [YR 7] Giving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i understand that nobody is really here to read long ass chapters about regulus, but i will simply ignore that because it's me who cares.

_looking up from underneath_

_fractured moonlight on the sea_

_reflections still look the same to me_

_as before i went under_

**reg**

The first moment that Regulus truly considers finding a way out of being a Death Eater is in early February, when his Dark Mark begins to burn at the most inconvenient times imaginable. 

Regulus had thought it was bad during Quidditch practice, when he had to make some excuse to kind hearted Danny and then abandon his team. He’d thought it was worse during classes in which he had first raised his hand and thought of some excuse to get him out, and now just slinks out of, ignoring any professor who calls his name. But when he’s in bed with his girlfriend who’s just taken off her bra, well, it becomes an issue.

Regulus gasps in surprised pain that Theodora mistakes as pleasure. She angles her body towards his, presses her lips against his neck, and Regulus says, “Fuck, this is the fucking _worst_ ,” and scrambles out of bed. 

“Regulus!”

“I’m so sorry, Jesus Christ, I am _so_ sorry.” Theodora puts her bra back on, red faced, while Regulus jumps into his trousers and does the buttons up on his shirt. Under the white sleeve, his Dark Mark stings with a burning ache so strong that the initial heat of it brought tears to Regulus’s eyes. 

“Are you-”

“Sorry,” Regulus breathes, as though an apology is the only thing he sees fit to speak right now. “I’m sorry, Theo, I’ve got to go.” The pain is already worsening and if Regulus doesn’t act quickly, he will be punished. A healthy dose of the Cruciatus is exactly what would make Regulus’s day even worse. 

Theodora stares at him from her bed, blankets drawn up over her chest, and her eyes are wide and full of some emotion that Regulus doesn’t have the time to place. 

“Bye,” He tells her, and again, “I’m so sorry.”

Ten minutes later, we find Regulus sprinting through the darkness of the Hogwarts grounds, tripping over tree roots and stumbling over his own feet. The panic in his chest is so strong and uncontrollable that his magic isn’t working, as it sometimes does; he had attempted in vain to cast the simplest _Lumos_ spell to light his path to the Forbidden Forest and the thrum of magic that usually pulses through his arm had been nothing but a whimpering, fleeting feeling.

The pain in his wand arm overrules the conception of magic. Regulus staggers to the treeline, out of breath and still so guilty for the way he left Theodora back in her dormitory. For a moment, he stands at the edge of the forest. Breathes in that calm scent of pine and earth. As though he could forget about the pain licking its way up his arm, Regulus takes a deep breath and swallows hard. He closes his eyes and focuses on Apparition, desperate for his magic to work.

It does. The Apparition tugs him away into a closed blackness that swallows him up, squeezes him through a wormhole of space and time, and spits him out onto creaking floorboards and voices stop speaking as Regulus stumbles forward, rubbing at his arm, which has finally stopped aching. The relief is palpable and the embarrassment even more.

“Kind of you to join us, Black.” Dolohov is the one speaking, glaring down at Regulus, who glances around the small room that he had so suddenly arrived in. Dolohov is standing and everyone else seated; Evan and Anthony in the corner looking nervous and the rest of them adults: Malfoy, Rodolphus and Bellatrix, who winks at him, Goyle, Mr. Rosier, Mr. Selwyn. Mulciber and Carnelian Selwyn are there as well.

“Sorry,” Regulus tells Dolohov. “I came as fast as I could.”

“Your friends managed it faster.” Regulus glances at Evan and Anthony. Anthony won’t meet his eyes but Evan looks worried. Regulus’s heart rate picks up again and he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers, looking back at Dolohov.

“I’m sorry.” Dolohov waves his hand dismissively.

“No time for idleness or apologies. Sit down. You’ve wasted enough time already.” Relief floods through Regulus as Dolohov continues talking to the gathering of people, and Evan gestures to a chair behind him that Regulus drops down in. His stomach is in knots and his hands are shaking. 

“Where’ve you been?” Anthony whispers over his shoulder.

“With Theo,” Regulus whispers back. Anthony smirks and rolls his eyes. Evan doesn’t speak up, but after a few moments he touches Regulus’s arm. His own hand is unshaking and solid. Regulus looks at Evan, who looks right back at him, and then returns his hand to his lap. The gesture had been small but means a lot to Regulus. He flexes his hands to keep them steady and tries to focus on what Dolohov is talking about.

It is not one of their big missions that involve explosions and as many Muggles dead as possible. This one is more calculated and centered individually around the murder of a Ministry official, this one named Phineas Francis, whose name has been all over the newspapers as of recent for his pressure on passing laws in support of Muggles and trying to write policy and legislation without focus on blood status at all.

Regulus isn’t even sure why he’s been summoned. He sits with a straight back and even eyes, but he sits on top of his shaking hands. When the meeting ends, Malfoy sweeps by the three sixth years and explains to them that they’ll be coming along on the mission, mostly to be lookouts but also for experience; assassinations are tricky things. He says they still have to attend the planning meetings throughout the week, and all three of them nod and say that they’ll be there. 

Regulus gives his cousin-in-law a tight smile that Malfoy returns with the same coldness, and then he leaves. Anthony looks at Evan and Regulus with bright eyes.

“Pretty cool, huh? You don’t see Barty getting invited on missions like these!” 

And it is Barty waiting for them alone by the time they return to the Slytherin common room, after curfew and their hall passes being drawn on their arms in black ink, the darkest magic alive. It is Barty whose father had tried cutting that magic out of his arm when Regulus knows the ways to do it, the way you have to draw the darkness out with a wand, knows the way it wraps and twists in the air, a physical manifestation of something otherworldly. 

Barty doesn’t ask them about the meeting. He’s doing schoolwork, something Regulus hasn’t thought about concretely in weeks. Anthony is the one who takes a seat next to him and starts up a conversation. Regulus still feels shaky and ill; there’s a headache pounding behind his left eye and he can barely move his head without feeling the dizzying nausea pressing at him. Evan doesn’t try talking to him that night. Regulus goes to bed early and misses his morning Ancient Runes class because he doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Pulling himself together seems to get harder every morning. It’s half past ten by the time Regulus finally drags himself out of bed, and half of Care of Magical Creatures has gone. By eleven o’clock, he’s managed to brush his teeth and change into a clean uniform. His head spins and it takes a while to place the lightheaded pain; a lack of food.

He raids Anthony’s snack stash and helps himself to a stale pumpkin pasty to hold him over until lunch. Anthony has some rather revolting old chips wrapped up in napkins, and Regulus does him a flavor by chucking them in the bin on his way out of the dorm. He’s officially missed three classes, but plans on attending Defense and Transfiguration in the afternoon. Astronomy is debatable; Regulus hardly attends but can pull himself through based on the extent of his astronomical knowledge. 

The weeks continue in a similar fashion. Regulus’s mark burns regularly from Tuesday on, and he misses at least two classes a day, often more and sometimes less. In late February, Danny Hunter kicks him off of the Quidditch team once and for all. 

The seventh year had stumbled upon Regulus in the library, where he had been napping whilst using a Runes textbook as a rather unsatisfactory pillow. Upon waking him up, Danny had first asked if he was alright, which Regulus could have replied to with some remark about how he’d feel better asleep, but Danny’s concern had been genuine despite Regulus shrugging off his worries. Then, Danny had told him that he’d missed far too many practices and had been given enough chances, and that he was very sorry, but Regulus could always try out again next year.

And so ends Regulus’s Quidditch career as Slytherin seeker. It had never been too rewarding, but it had been something to do. He’d never liked his teammates much anyways. He does not mourn the loss of it, as he suspects he wouldn’t feel too bad about anything, these days. Regulus’s only priority is serving the Dark Lord. Every time his Dark Mark burns, he convinces himself that Voldemort himself will be at the subsequent meeting, but he never is.

There’s a quiet disappointment whenever Regulus Apparates into a throng of dark magic only to see a Lestrange brother, or Dolohov, or Malfoy leading one of the meetings. Come to think of it, Regulus hasn’t seen the Dark Lord in person in months. It feels more like he’s working for some dark overlord rather than a real person. Regulus misses the familiarity of a few years ago, when the Death Eaters had been a much smaller operation, and Voldemort had spoken at each and every meeting. 

The days pass and each one is meaningless. February melts into March, and Regulus is subject to spikes of anxiety throughout every day and headaches that hit out of nowhere and leave him with genuine excuses to miss class. 

Regulus wakes up with a pounding migraine in early March and assumes primarily that this pain must in some way be associated with the Dark Mark stamped clear and dark into his forearm. But when he rolls up his shirtsleeve, squinting only his right eye open in hopes of easing some pain, the skull and snake are sitting still. No pulsing writhe underneath his skin.

Regulus rolls his sleeve back down, sighs heavily, flops over in bed and tries to go back to sleep. It does not occur to him that he genuinely has classes to attend until somewhere in the middle of the day, and his head hurts so badly that the darkness of the empty dormitory seems to be the only solace in the entire world.

Hogwarts has become more of a place to sleep at night rather than a home. Regulus hasn’t thought of it like a school for a long time. He can’t remember the last class he attended, or what he might have learned. Today, he doesn’t get out of bed at all.

Regulus can’t remember if he sleeps or not. The day sort of drifts by behind the dizzying pain of his headache, and at some point, after what feels like hours and hours, someone enters the dorm. He hears the quiet creak of the door and the soft footsteps across the floor. Evan, based on how polite he’s being.

“Hey, Regulus.” Yep, Evan Rosier, in the flesh.

“‘M ill.” Regulus’s voice sounds weak and faraway.

“I know, mate, I brought you a headache draught.” Regulus draws back the curtains and blinks, surprised at the hazy darkness that has fallen in his dorm. Has the sun set already? Evan is watching him worriedly, holding out a small bottle. 

“Cheers.”

“‘Course.” Regulus downs the bottle in one go, screwing his face up at the nasty taste, but Pomfrey’s draughts work faster than anything and it doesn’t take long before he can feel the cool effects of the draught tamping down the thumping pain in his head. Evan has perched at the edge of his bed, and since the pain has cleared, Regulus has the ability to see what his friend is seeing, namely two letters held in his hands. 

Evan explains before Regulus even asks. “They’re from Dumbledore. We’re in huge trouble. Meetings in his office tomorrow.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah…” Evan trails off. He looks impossibly tired. Bags hang heavy under his brown eyes, and his face is drawn and lined. If Regulus had seen him in the hall, he would have thought a few times before messing with him. Evan looks exhausted as hell, but he’s known for his magical prowess and talent. Regulus wonders if he looks the same as his friend. 

Evan looks him over fully and Regulus feels oddly scrutinized. It’s fair to say that neither of them have really been taking care of themselves, not as of late. After Danny kicked Regulus off of the Quidditch team, the only time he’s spent outside or exercising has been running to the edge of the Forbidden Forest so he can Apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. Food is less appealing than ever. 

Nothing is really interesting or important. The whole world is flat and dull. Everything that matters is housed in that sharp burst of pain that comes from the Dark Mark, and that is where everything that will matter, too, will stay. Regulus rubs his hand over his wrist absentmindedly, and Evan speaks up again.

“Haven’t been going to many classes, have you?”

“Have you?”

“I’m trying, mate.” Evan lets the unspoken hover between them, that Regulus hasn’t been trying. He won’t argue it. “And I’m not coming back next year, either.” Regulus has been worrying over whether he’ll be returning to school next year for quite a while, and makes his decision right here and now.

“Well, me neither.”

“Seriously?” 

Regulus shrugs. “Not much point in coming back if I won’t go to any classes, you know?”

“Alright, there we go! That’s the spirit!” Evan claps him on the shoulder. “Anthony might do the same.” He laughs, sort of hysterically, as if he can’t truly believe it. “They’re losing all the sixth year Slytherins, eh?”

Regulus says, “Poor Barty.” Evan just clicks his tongue. Regulus feels a wave of strange powerlessness that always rises when he thinks about Barty’s situation, especially his life at home. His father is decidedly ruthless. Despite the Lestranges’ insistence that Barty develop a better relationship with his father in order to weasel some information out of him, things have only gotten worse between them.

When Regulus had heard about Barty’s summer, being locked in his room after his father had tried cutting the Dark Mark out of him, he had been shocked and horrified. He’s only seen his friend’s tattoo a few times since. There’s ugly, thick white scars marked over the skull and snake, disfiguring it. 

“He can’t stay at home any longer,” Regulus mumbles. “It’s awful.”

“His dad’s going to keep torturing him as long as he can, at least until he’s seventeen. Well, he’s got his mum, hasn’t he?”

“She hasn’t really stopped anything…” Their conversation is cut short as Barty himself and Anthony walk back into the dormitory. Evan stands up, gives Regulus a sly grin, and walks back across the dormitory as though their conversation had never happened. The only thing he leaves behind is the letter from Dumbledore.

The blasted letter haunts Regulus for the rest of the night and into the next day; he’s a bad liar and feels guilty whenever he’s forced to. He goes to classes the next morning only because the worry has kept him alert and awake, and Theodora brings him down to lunch. Regulus feels even more guilty in how she seems to be pretending that he’s not the worst boyfriend in all of history, and since he’s made his decision to drop out of Hogwarts at the end of the year, his next task is to break up with her.

Though not yet.

His meeting with Dumbledore is after lunch, so Regulus leaves early to go have a smoke. Evan’s stupid habit has become more or less an addiction, but everyone smokes these days and besides, they help Regulus concentrate. Except there’s a small problem in terms of Regulus’s magic and his wand won’t, fucking will _not_ light.

“ _Incendio_ .” Nothing happens. “Fuck it, _incendio! Incendio!_ ” Nothing. Fucking nothing. Regulus needs this smoke before the meeting and feels as though he’s losing his grip on everything because his magic won’t work because he’s useless, as good as a Squib, and he cannot breathe, not without this smoke, and he _needs_ this stupid fucking cigarette-

“Need a light, mate?” Regulus blinks up at someone tall and familiar. Remus Lupin. Sirius, for once, is not with him. He’s just alone. Holding out a strange contraption. Regulus stares up at him pathetically. Lupin gestures with the little rectangular box. “It’s a lighter. Muggle stuff, look.” Regulus blinks tears from his eyes and focuses on Lupin’s scarred hand, how his thumb flicks hard on the wheel and a spark of light shoots up around a small, wavering flame. Lupin holds out the lighter. Presses it into Regulus’s hand. 

Lupin smiles at him kindly, weakly, and continues through the courtyard. Regulus watches him light his own fag with a wave of his hand, flame contained in a small ball on his palm, and wonders how a half breed werewolf ended up better at magic than him. Lupin walks out of sight and Regulus plays with the Muggle lighter. He scrapes his thumb over the wheel like Lupin had and sees the flame flicker out of the top.

Curious.

Regulus lights the cigarette and smokes it greedily. He takes his time with the second one, less desperate. When he checks his watch, he finds himself unsurprised that he’s five minutes late to the meeting. But Regulus does enough running to meet the Dark Lord and strolls quite casually through the empty halls of Hogwarts, past crowded classrooms, and all the way up to the headmasters’ office. 

Regulus has been raised to hate Albus Dumbledore and he will agree that there are good reasons for this. Entering Dumbledore’s office strikes Regulus on a similar level of entering a room with his mother in it; manipulation is only to be expected and the private safety of your mind is now a rather public display.

“Mr. Black,” Dumbledore says, “Care for a mint?” Regulus takes one out of sheer politeness and Dumbledore, the old codger, regards him with frighteningly blue eyes. It is no surprise to Regulus when his eyes meet Dumbledore’s and then there is a strange feeling in his brain, an unreality, an interference. Regulus has been raised with Walburga Black as a mother and knows full well what legilimency looks like and even better how to block it away.

“It has come to my attention that your attendance in class has been incredibly irregular as of late. You are in danger of having to repeat your sixth year. Is there a reason that you’ve been missing classes?”

Regulus feels his Dark Mark burn but the pain is only phantom. He has begun to manifest it out of anxiety at this point.

“No.” Regulus thinks. “Headaches. I have lots of them. And I’m not coming back here next year.”

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpens. Regulus thinks of French conjugations and open skies. Empty things. This old man is not getting a mere peek inside Regulus’s head. 

“Why is that?”

“My father is ill and I have to help take care of him.”

“Do you have a job of any sort for when school is over?”

“I’ll find something.” Regulus rolls the mint back and forth in his mouth. Dumbledore’s face seems colder than before, as though it has lost its kindness. His blue eyes are nearly frightening in the caliber of their intensity. Regulus sits up straighter.

“Mr. Black, I would only like to remind you that help is always available to those at Hogwarts who ask for it.” Regulus does not reply. “Does your family approve of your decision?”

“Yes.”

“Do they really?” Dumbledore’s eyes know there’s a secret in there somewhere, like the Howlers that found Regulus alone in the dormitory since he doesn’t eat breakfast anymore. Howlers he listened to alone while his mother raged about his poor marks, calling him lazy and useless and everything that Regulus cannot deny that he has become. Blacks are not Hogwarts drop outs. Blacks do not fail their classes and lie to the headmasters of the school, no matter how deluded said headmasters might be.

“Yes,” Regulus repeats. It is then that his Dark Mark burns truly, as he has been waiting for it to all day, and he takes care not to flinch even as the pain slices its way up his arm. “Sir, I could very well be in class right now.” The pain engulfs him, worse than any pounding migraine or bout of dizzy nausea, worse than anything in the world. 

“What class do you have right now?”

And here, Regulus’s mind goes blank. He’s forgotten his own schedule to concentrate on pain instead. What time is it? What _day_ is it? Silence rains down upon them and Regulus’s mind stammers somewhere in the blank darkness, thinking of something that might pass as believable. Is this what it feels like for his father? This shaky static that wraps over everything that used to matter and now, simply, doesn’t anymore?

“Herbology.” Regulus stands up shakily. Dumbledore just watches him. Regulus doesn’t even know if his answer is correct, nor does he care. 

His palms are sweating and his whole body aches with the pain that pulses in time with his heartbeat; epicenter being his wrist. Regulus understands why Barty Crouch Senior tried to cut that Mark out of his only son’s arm. Doing anything to counteract that awful, wasting pain that crushes and twists and warps. Any parent would have tried to remove it. A small amount of pain inflicted with a careful blade rather than a lifetime of snakes breathing fire under your skin.

“Thank you for the concern, sir, but I’m fine. I’m only staying through the end of the year. There’s nothing to worry about past that.” Regulus leaves without a goodbye or a dismissal. He forces himself to run once outside of Dumbledore’s office and is grateful that Theodora had dragged him to lunch if only so he has the energy to race down the wet stone steps outside, past Hagrid’s hut, and towards the treeline. 

The Forbidden Forest always houses a moment of calm for Regulus, right before he falls face first into the chaos. He stands under a great big oak tree and breathes in that scent of earth and nature. Green, fresh, real. Regulus drinks it in around the pain. He closes his eyes and opens them in London. When he exhales, he leaves a piece of the Forbidden Forest in the rainy grey street. 

A hand grabs his freshly relieved arm and tugs him into an alleyway. It’s Mulciber, with Evan and Anthony next to him, and Selwyn smoking a cigarette. He grinds it out against the wall when Regulus shows up. Mulciber snaps at him quickly for being late and then explains their role in the whole operation. 

Lookouts. Sentries. Just kids along for the ride. 

“Should be short and sweet,” Mulciber says as they walk down the street, shoes gritty on the pavement that tries its best to reflect the rainlight. Cigarette smoke in the air and the dampness of humidity. “Unless we find his family, and then we’re having proper fun.” His broad face breaks into a smile, and Selwyn returns it. 

Regulus knows that there is no real need for all of them to be there on top of Selwyn and Mulciber. But on the Dark Lord’s orders, he wants there to be many Death Eaters on every mission, he wants every last one of them involved in at least the smallest of ways; he wants them to know the consequences. Evan and Anthony are stationed outside the big house. Regulus is led through the gate, unlocked by magic.

Regulus is the runner, the one who will deal with any little children who come wandering through the darkness, or the family dog, or whatever. Mulciber and Selwyn get Francis himself. Regulus can pick up the pieces. They slip into the house and then, of course, a Caterwauling charm sounds from the door. Selwyn silences it in a swift stroke from his wand, almost immediately, but the rest of them are on guard. The cry of it had broken through the silent night. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Mulciber says and races upstairs with Selwyn hot on his heels, forgetting all about tact. Regulus follows them, hears a commotion from the main bedroom, and then a small voice is asking him,

“Who’s there? What’s happening?”

Regulus turns in horror to see a child standing in a nightdress. She holds a small stuffed hippogriff in one hand and wipes a tired eye with the other.

“Daddy?”

“Hush,” Regulus tells her, rushing over and trying to herd her back into the bedroom, “Just, be quiet, okay? Go back to bed…” And then a curse is flung from behind him, straight at him, and Regulus deflects it clumsily but aims his wand back in the direction from where it came: 

“Expelliarmus!”

Mulciber and Selwyn are shouting down the hall and one of them aims a blasting curse at the shadow in the darkness, who whips around with razor sharp reflexes and fires off another one. Someone else is dueling against them, and Regulus hears “Confringo!” “Reducto!” “Flipendo!” And then the shadow moves past the light night shining from his daughter’s room and Regulus recognizes him as clear as day: Phineas Francis.

“Kill him!” Mulciber screams. 

So Regulus obeys.

The Killing Curse rocks his entire body, flings him back against the wall and the little girl screams out loud, wailing, and her voice is silenced by another curse- a Full Body Bind cast by Selwyn, who is grabbing Regulus and pulling him back downstairs. Remains of fractured green light flash in his vision. From upstairs, Regulus hears the same incantation that he had just spoken again- “Avada Kedavra!” and the little girl is dead too. 

Evan and Anthony are wide eyed on the street, Evan halfway into the yard and his wand drawn, but Mulciber comes barreling out the door with a grin on his face. He laughs all the way into the street and they all grab onto each other: hands, arms, shoulders, and Disapparate all at once. Gotten away with it.


	115. [YR 7] Me & My Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh this is like my favorite chapter ever. just a taste of what's to come after they leave hogwarts 
> 
> some things:  
> \- BHS was british home stores, which was sorta like bed bath and beyond. in other words, a super fun place to hang out and maybe shop  
> \- the song u hear about later on is 'werewolves of london' by warren zevon and it's absolutely so good  
> \- trader vic's is a tiki bar type restaurant that was big in the 70s/80s (esp in california). i guess they're still around today but not as hype

_ we had a great day, even though we forgot to eat _

_ and you had a bad dream, and we got no sleep _

_ ‘cause we were kissing  _

**r**

When Easter holidays inevitably creep up around late March, Remus is generally surprised when Sirius suggests that they go find a flat over the break. In all honesty, Remus’s plan for the week-long holiday had been to live in the woods with the pack of wolves that he’s been spending odd days with after full moons since January. 

When he had returned from his bitter escapade into the Forbidden Forest in January, everyone had been asking after him with uncharacteristic worry. Only the Marauders plus Lily Evans, who is now an honorary member of their group, had been given an explanation, as lacking as it might have been. Remus had told them that Dumbledore had asked him to do some research for him- research being a strong term for it- on the packs in the forest.

“By  _ living  _ with them?” James had asked with something almost close to distaste in his voice, and Remus had looked him in the eyes and asked what  _ he  _ had done for Dumbledore recently. And maybe it had been rude. Something Remus would ordinarily never say, but afterwards Lily had told him that he’d put him just in his place, as he should.

For perplexing reasons, as of recent, James has been acting rather tetchy. For lack of a better word, Remus would say that he’s been acting like a proper fucking muppet. James spends most of his time with Lily, who as of late has seemed to grow rather overwhelmed by his negativity, and engages in a load of gossip with Sirius, Remus, and even Marlene, who can fill them in on James’s Quidditch related mishaps. 

The rest of them are staying at Hogwarts over Easter. Remus would have liked to stay back with his friends (and the werewolves), and appreciate the remaining time at school as well as the wonderful quiet of the library which makes studying for N.E.W.Ts that much easier, but Sirius gets this big stupid grin on his face whenever he talks about moving in with Remus, and Remus has to admit that flat shopping  _ does  _ sound rather fun. 

“What city did we pick, Edinburgh?” Sirius asks as he flicks his wand at the fireplace in front of them which bursts into warm life. He doesn’t seem to know much at all about how leasing a flat works, and his eyes widen when Remus drops the Cardiff housing listings onto his lap.

“I wrote to Caradoc about it, so he sent me these.” Sirius grins and whoops as he holds up the paper. 

“Merlin, Moony, you’ve been planning!” Sirius rustles the newspaper, lays it out in front of him, as Remus flushes red in the face. “Cardiff, huh?”

“I sort of want to stay close to home, you know, ish. And real estate’s cheap.”

“Ish?”

“Liverpool’s sort of gone downhill these past years. You know the gravediggers there have gone on strike?” Sirius laughs, surprised. 

“Dead can bury themselves?”

“I’m not joking,” Remus tells him, and Sirius laughs even harder, muttering about the sheer insanity of Muggles until Remus reminds him that they will be living among them soon enough and then Sirius stops laughing. 

“Are we supposed to make appointments, then? To tour?”

“We’re not buying a house, Sirius, it doesn’t work like that. I think we should pop about and see the location, state of the buildings and all, but we can put down a lease the same day. We’ll have to stop by Gringotts...” Remus hardly sleeps that night because he’s so nervous about doing something so obscenely  _ adult _ \- putting down a lease on his very own flat, and he’s still nervous when they Apparate to Diagon Alley out of Hogsmeade the next morning.

Remus and Sirius had an argument that morning about what to wear, because Sirius had been layering on his chains and tugging on his studded leather jacket while Remus told him that if they called up a landlord, they would have to look presentable. And Sirius had looked Remus up and down with disdain and said he wasn’t going to dress like someone’s granddad, thank you very much, and then Remus had said there’s no way they can rent a flat with Sirius dressing like a gutter punk _ ,  _ and Peter, from behind his closed curtains, had shouted at them to shut up because they fight like an old married couple.

So Sirius wears a collared shirt but puts his leather jacket on top. His boots are unfixable, since the Union Jack is painted on them bright and brash, but at least he’s not wearing his chains or a tattered t-shirt, plus his tattoos are covered up. And his jeans are free of rips or tears, which is as much as he is willing to give in order to please Remus. 

They go to Diagon Alley first, into Gringotts. Remus feels sick with nerves and nausea as they ride into the depths below Gringotts. His vault is only in the 100s- minimum security. When Remus quietly asks Sirius which number is his, Sirius laughs before telling him 711. Lyall had opened up Remus’s own vault once he had gotten a job, and half of his pay had gone into savings in Gringotts while the other half had been Remus’s own for spending. 

When the goblin leading them along opens up Remus’s vault, he feels a distinct sinking in his stomach. There’s hardly anything in there. He gathers up most of the coins, assuming he can return the leftovers, and stuffs them into his bag before closing the vault. Sirius just watches impassively. Sirius’s own vault is way deeper down and there’s higher security measures protecting it. Remus stays in the cart while Sirius goes into his vault and comes back looking rather chipper. 

They transfer the galleons into pounds, which becomes even more worrisome to Remus, who realizes just how little money he’s in material possession of. It’s only once they’ve returned to the bright March streets that Sirius drops a bomb of relief on Remus.

“I can pay for it all.”

Remus balks. They’ve been wandering uselessly around Diagon Alley after buying James some birthday presents to gift him after they return to school. Remus has been considering how they’re going to Apparate to Cardiff on account of neither of them having been, but Sirius seems to have other things on his mind.

“What?”

“I can pay for the whole flat. I know our price range isn’t much, but you don’t have to. I can afford it. And don’t protest and get all sensitive on me, this isn’t charity, I don’t mind, because you’ll be stretching all your cash if you try to pay, I know, it’s okay.” 

“I just don’t want to be dependent on you.”

“You aren’t! This isn’t. I mean.” Sirius turns and looks at him full on. His blue eyes are steady. Remus stops walking, and Sirius does too, and he says, “It isn’t about dependence, it’s me having a fortune and nowhere to spend it. I want this flat for  _ us,  _ Moony, we can even have your name on the lease if you feel better about it. I don’t want  _ you  _ to be dependent on  _ me.  _ And you can do all the cooking and tidying up, and you can wash my laundry and take out the trash, and fix the things that need fixing-”

“I get it, I get it.” Sirius smiles and Remus does too. He’s moving in somewhere with the love of his life. He had never thought this was going to happen. Never, ever, not in his entire life. Sirius takes his hand because bugger all to anyone who may care, wizards give less of a toss than Muggles do anyways, and Sirius swings it widely as they continue through Diagon Alley. Remus can’t wipe this cheesy grin off of his face.

They end up Apparating to the Potters’ to get Sirius’s motorbike. Euphemia and Fleamont aren’t home, but Ziggy is, and Remus settles in behind Sirius on the back of the bike as Sirius explains all the levitation charms he’s worked on it and the absolute safety of the monstrosity, which Remus doesn’t believe for one second.

It gets them to Cardiff fast, though, and they look badass. Sirius drives them from house to house, the ones they’ve circled on the newspaper listings. Neither of them have helmets and Remus wonders how ridiculous they must look- two well enough dressed blokes roaring around on a huge black motorbike to stop and gawk at flats from the outside. 

They end up between two selections- tiny little houses in either Adamsdown or Cathay. The one in Adamsdown has a little park nearby and some cafes down the street, but the house is ugly as all hell, just a boring brown building with not so much as a window dressing in sight. Plus, it’s more money. The Cathay one is cheaper because the surroundings are nothing but similar low little houses, but the stone or brick buildings remind Remus of home. And if you walk enough blocks up the street, you reach a BHS and a Chinese restaurant.

Remus calls the realtor for the house in Cathay, and she meets them there in an hours’ time. The realtor shows them around the empty house. There’s two levels but the house itself is tiny- the first level has a cramped living room and kitchen, and upstairs has a master bedroom, another smaller bedroom, and one bathroom. It reminds Remus so much of home that he tells her they’ll take it without any consultation from Sirius. But they sign the lease, Sirius forks over the down payment, and they leave Ziggy parked out front.

Home. 

As soon as the realtor leaves, Sirius just turns and kisses Remus. A long, good kiss full of all the happy feelings in the world. Sirius’s eyes are sparkling with joy, with happiness.

“I honestly never thought I’d reach this point in my life,” He says. “I’m so, so happy.”

“Me too.”

“To think! My own little house with my own boyfriend, and I’m free and alive and I’m happy!” He twirls around in the tiny kitchen and then just laughs out loud. “Let’s go get some champagne and celebrate!” They ride Ziggy down to the nearest shop and buy the cheapest bottle of champagne. The cashier asks if they’re celebrating and Sirius says they’ve just bought their own house (not true but who cares?), and the cashier says congratulations and Sirius says  _ thank  _ you with a big smile on his face, and they ride home and park Ziggy out front and pop the champagne and for the rest of day they kiss and touch and fuck against the kitchen counter because there’s no furniture to speak of.

So in the evening they buy a mattress and drag it home, thinking they’ll save a table and chairs for tomorrow. Without a car or the ability to use magic in the streets, it’s harder to fill the house with furniture. They got some pillows for the mattress and a sheet, and a blanket, and they throw it onto the master bedroom’s empty floor and fall onto it, still sort of tipsy, and glowing from all the sex and the fun and the fact that this house is theirs.

Almost like they own it, but not nearly there. 

They lie around snogging for a while longer and then they just lie on the mattress in the empty bedroom, spent. Both are too lazy to get up and turn the light on, or find their wands, so they lay in the twilight darkness and listen to each other breathe. In those spaces of silence, just heartbeats and breath, Remus can swear he’s never been so in love with a person or just a moment. He looks over at Sirius and sees him like it’s the first time- black hair, blue eyes, white teeth. When Sirius makes eye contact with Remus and smiles, his cheeks round out, and Remus kisses him, and they dissolve into one another over and over and over.

At last, they cuddle together in the darkness, wasted of sex but never tired of each other. Sirius’s belly growls and he laughs, asks Remus if he wants to go get Chinese food and Remus says of course, always. They get Chinese takeaway and it’s nearly midnight and they eat it on the kitchen floor with chopsticks, lit up in ugly yellow; Sirius talks decorations and the lamps he’ll use to light this place up with ambiance, how he wants a sofa and a loveseat and maybe they can stick a piano in the corner and Remus says what kind of pianos have you  _ seen?  _ and Sirius just laughs like he will never stop.

They wash down their food with more champagne and then they sprawl out on the ugly wall to wall carpeting in the living room that turns their elbows red with rug burn and write letters. Remus writes one for his dad and one for Sion while Sirius writes one for his cousin Andromeda and one to the Potters.

Remus’s first goes like:  _ Hi, dad, me and Sirius leased a little house down in Cardiff. Two bedrooms and one bath, and it’s about a half hours’ walk to the city centre, but we have a motorbike. It’s Sirius’s. It’s safe, he’s a good driver. You have my return address if you ever want to mail stuff here, or visit when we move in in the summer, and I’m here all week until it’s back to Hogwarts. Tell Luke I miss him and I hope you’re okay, and I’m doing just fine, and I’ll see you in June. _

His second letter is much longer and there’s more enthusiasm. Remus tells Sion to come visit as soon as he can and he’s always welcome to stay the night, because what else is the second bedroom for? And at the end that he loves him and he’s doing loads better than before and he misses him like anything. He’ll be back in Mold to pack up some of his things in June, and he’ll see him then.

“How are we going to mail these?” Sirius asks while laughing again and Remus realizes they have no owls or stamps to speak of, so he just laughs too. They go to bed at half past three in the morning and tomorrow is even more hectic than the day before.

They grab pastries for breakfast from a cafe they ride by while trying to find the Wizarding district of Cardiff. It’s a rather difficult affair. Remus knows that it exists, there’s Wizarding districts in nearly every major city in the country, and as the capital of Wales, there must be  _ some  _ Wizarding businesses around… Sirius rides Ziggy through the streets as Remus peers around and looks for signs of magic. At long last, driving down Queen Street, Remus sees a little man wearing robes and a pointed hat.

“There,” He says, chin on Sirius’s shoulder and speaking into his ear, “See that bloke?”

“Oh, yup, there he is.” Sirius slows the bike and pulls to the kerb.

“What are we doing?”

“Following him, duh.” Sirius kicks off the bike and shakes out his hair as Remus chews nervously at his lip. “How else are we supposed to find out how to get in?” Even though it’s a terrible idea, Sirius and Remus settle in to trail this poor wizard through the streets of Cardiff- hesitating on street corners and leaving space in between them and the wizard that is shortened exponentially when the small man whips around and strides right up to Sirius with his wand out, then pressed to Sirius’s chin, and he says in a thick Welsh accent:

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re following me, boy, and I’ll strike you dead if you take one more step behind me.” Sirius giggles nervously; Remus has his own wand out, held low against his leg.

“We’re sorry, I’m sorry, we’re only looking for the Wizarding district here and we saw your robes and were following you in case you were going to go in-! We’re no trouble!” The man jabs his wand into Sirius’s chin again and Remus wants to snap at him to lower his wand. None of the Muggles around them seem to care very much at all, if they are even looking. Most people are busy on their way.

But the man lowers his wand and glowers at the pair of them.

“We’ve never been to Cardiff before,” Remus puts in. “He’s from London, I’m from up north.” The man’s eyes light up upon hearing Remus’s stupid lilting accent and he stows his wand away while switching languages.

“O ble wyt ti?”  _ Where are you from?  _

“Mold, ger Wrexham.”

“O. Ie, gallaf ddangos i chi sut i fynd i mewn. Dewch ymlaen.” The man gestures over his shoulder and Remus falls into step beside him, keeping up conversation in Welsh while Sirius follows behind them, clearly not understanding a word out of their mouths. The man is going on about how we’ve always got to be on guard these days, especially with Death Eaters about, and how ‘kids these days’ have no idea how serious their actions can be.

He speaks to Remus as though he doesn’t assume that him and Sirius are of the same age. Remus agrees heartily with him and when the old man asks what he does for work, Remus’s face heats up and he lies about doing research. And then he’s looped into a piss awful lie about what  _ kind  _ of research, so Remus starts carrying on about magical creatures, all while Sirius remains confusedly silent trailing behind them. While they’ve been talking, the old man has led them into the National Museum and up a flight of stairs, down into a painting gallery.

The man never switches back into English and rather explains to Remus in Welsh how the Wizarding district in Cardiff works. 

“That one in London is utter bollocks, bunch of bellends walking through a  _ pub  _ to get to Diagon Alley. Ours is called Paradwys Hynafol, and it’s right through that painting, there. Just pry it back and open it up.” The man points to a painting of a lighthouse overlooking some cliffs. “Go on, just pull back the portrait and on you go. Sure you can find your way back. What’s your name, laddie?”

“Remus Lupin,” Remus tells him. The man shakes his hand. 

“Gregory Griffiths to you.” Gregory looks over Sirius as though he doesn't exist at all and then gives Remus a halfway smile. “Good luck!” And off he wanders, back through the gallery. Sirius stares after him.

“...Do you ever think that people treat me differently?” Sirius asks.

“‘Cause of your clothes, Pads, that’s what you get for dressing like a London punk.” Remus cackles out loud as Sirius softly punches his shoulder, swearing gently, but he smiles. They climb through the portrait as though expecting to find a common room on the other side, but it’s a small alleyway, and the sun is out. They walk farther down the street and come upon a street of shops that is somewhat reminiscent of Diagon Alley but also reminds Remus of Queen Street in this odd, Welsh way.

“Got Greg to thank for this, eh?” 

“Was that his name?” Sirius grumbles. He’s casually sensitive about the whole affair which is generally hilarious to Remus until they find a magical animals store and Sirius promptly loses his mind over all the cute little critters inside. While Sirius gets all mushy eyed over a bunch of Krup puppies, Remus finds the cheapest owl in the store and buys her; a respectable sized Scops owl. He gets a cage for her and a huge bag of dead mice for treats.

Remus wanders back over to where Sirius has picked up a Krup puppy and is rocking him in his arms like a baby. Sirius looks so… so  _ Sirius.  _ His shaggy hair falls into his face as he coos at the puppy that wiggles softly in his tattooed arms. When Remus makes his presence known, Sirius looks up at him, his eyes all happy-blue.

“Can we get a Krup, Moony, please? Look at this little guy!” He shows the wriggling puppy to Remus, who holds up the owl’s small cage in response. 

“We’re going back to school, anyways, we can’t get a puppy.”

“A  _ Kruppy _ .” Sirius corrects. He pouts. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Pads, I’d like one, you know I would, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Fine.” Sirius puts the puppy back down in his enclosure with his brothers and sisters but pats his head one last time. “We’ll be back,” He whispers. Then he turns the attention to their new owl and starts fawning about her. “Ohh, you’re so cute, aren’t you?” Sirius strokes the owl’s head. “What should we name her? Something appropriately badass, huh?” 

“Could call her Layla. Like Ziggy, but better.”

“Piss off Moony, we’d both take Bowie over Clapton anyday, but yeah, I do like Layla.” Sirius hums the opening riff of the song as he pats Layla’s head in a similar way that he would pet a dog, and then he really smiles at Remus again. 

They take Layla home to establish a sense of it for her and then send her off with their assorted letters. Then they go out and buy some more things. A radio, and utensils and plates. Some food just for the week. One single chair, because they can’t carry two home in the present state of handslessness.

Now that there’s some form of music making in their house, Sirius keeps it on all the time. He props the radio up on the small division between the kitchen and living room so the acoustics are better, and the pair of them are subject to listening to whatever’s popular right now instead of their own personal record selections, not that Remus minds.

The next evening, Sirius is trying to put together a table that they had bought from BHS (their new favorite store) while Remus fixes dinner. A new song comes on with a bouncy piano riff that Sirius shakes his head to as he works. He wears jeans and a t-shirt, looking very Muggle, and Remus can see all the dark tattoos marked up his arms. 

_ I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand _

_ Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain  _

_ He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fork’s _

_ Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein _

_ Awoo! Werewolves of London _

“The fuck is this?” Remus laughs out loud as the song continues. Sirius turns up the radio, a huge grin on his face, as whoever keeps singing about the werewolves of London. “This is what the Muggles like nowadays?”

“It’s a good song!” Sirius protests. “I could play this for you on the piano! Speaking of, do you think we should get one?”

“A piano? You think we can fit a piano in here? Since when have werewolves become mainstream? This is cultural appropriation!”

“Yeah, we could fit one for sure, just stick it in the corner right there,  _ awooo! _ ” Sirius breaks off to howl along with the song and Remus watches his boyfriend stand up, abandoning the half finished table to start dancing. “Should write to whatshisface, ask where you can find the werewolves…”

_ I saw a werewolf drinking a pi _ _ ña colada at Trader Vic’s _

_ And his hair was perfect _

Sirius bursts out laughing and Remus stands up once and for all, a stupid grin on his face, and the bright piano of the song finishes off and Hotel California starts, which is Remus’s cue to switch off the radio. 

“The werewolves reside at Trader Vic’s, apparently. If Dumbledore needs to find them, you can tell him where to go!” Remus laughs too, imagining Dumbledore sitting in Trader Vic’s drinking something strong out of a coconut. Without music, Sirius has nothing to dance to, and pounces on Remus from behind, wrapping his hands around Remus’s waist and kissing up his neck. Remus giggles and squirms in his grasp, protesting that he’s cooking, and Sirius sucks hard enough at his jaw to leave a mark before detaching himself and cackling evilly as he returns to the table setup.

They get to eat at the table for dinner, which is very exciting, as they’ve been eating on the kitchen floor for the past few nights. Between the two of them, they now own two chairs, which is also moving up in the world. Remus made them a stir fry that they eat while listening to an oldies station because Remus hates the Eagles and isn’t keen on risking another taste of them. 

Layla flies in with a letter for Sirius from his cousin Andromeda. A dinner invitation for Friday. Sirius’s eyes light up in a way that makes Remus’s heart do something wild. They go visit Caradoc the next night, wake up hungover the next day, and go rug shopping in London with Caradoc in the afternoon. They end up with a huge, super cool Pakistani rug that they bought for cheap, and all three of them hold up the huge thing and Apparate in one swoop back to Cardiff with it. 

It’s nearly wall to wall in the living room, covering up the scrubby greyish carpet underneath, and the feeling of it is plush and soft. They smoke some weed and lie on the rug for the rest of the day, listening to the Grateful Dead. The next day is lazy and stupid. Caradoc had left at maybe one or two in the morning. Remus and Sirius wake up late, finally leave the house around one in the afternoon to go get coffee. Then they spend most of the day catching up at schoolwork at their kitchen table, where the light stays longest during the day.

They take a cross country ride on Ziggy that evening, all the way over to Norwich, where the Tonks’s live.  Andromeda opens the door and looks delighted at the sight of Sirius, who hugs her, steps back, and says clear as day: “This is Remus, my boyfriend.” Andromeda cannot quite hide her startled gasp, and her husband just starts laughing. 

“Oh ho ho, how  _ modern _ !” Ted Tonks is tall and stocky, with dirty blonde hair and a weathered grin. He shakes Sirius’s hand, and then Remus’s. “Good to meet you, Remus! Come on in!” 

Dinner is lovely. Andromeda is witty and sharp, Ted is jolly and kind, and their daughter Nymphadora is a five year old maniac with blue hair, red eyes, and a mouth that never stops talking. They stay late into the night, drinking wine. Sirius and Andromeda talk and talk and talk, gossiping about their family in a way that Remus has never heard before.

Usually, Sirius’s family is associated with nothing but darkness. When he talks about them, his face gets all closed off and his eyes grey and stormy. Tonight, his face gets redder and his voice louder as he laughs about the atrocities of the Black family like it’s some sort of relief to chatter about them with someone else who understands. 

After dinner, they come home and lie on the wonderful new rug and listen to the radio. As Remus is beginning to drift off after another long day, he hears the opening bars from Elton John’s ‘Your Song’ over the radio. Sirius sighs wistfully. Remus is reminded overwhelmingly of the Potters’ New Years party during their sixth year; Sirius playing this song on the piano, singing along, his warm leg pressed against Remus’s, his fingers on the keys.

“ _ How wonderful life is now you’re in the world,”  _ Sirius sings lightly, taking Remus’s hand. He squeezes it tight and then lifts it to his lips, kissing it. “When we’re out of Hogwarts, we’re getting a piano. I’ll charm it to make it fit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Sirius lowers his hand back to the carpet, but does not let go. They lie flat on their backs, eyes closed, and let Elton play on. 


	116. [YR 7] Without Fear

_ we threw a party up in here but god, it was bittersweet _

_ i live hard ‘cause i am scared that i won’t mean anything  _

**m**

Spring is a hard season. There’s stress and N.E.W.Ts and being Quidditch captain. School ending in the coming months, forever. There’s things to come to terms with, not all of which are simple, and Remus offers to smoke her out one evening when she’d felt a stress breakdown looming on the horizon.

They go out by the greenhouses and smoke some joints, Marlene more than Remus, who still has to mind his lungs. He shouldn’t be smoking in the first place, but he seems to truly believe in the healing properties of marijuana.

Marlene leans against Remus and he puts his arm around her. They’re cross legged in the long grass out behind the greenhouses, the one with their initials carved into the side. M.M. + R.L. held forever in a knife-scratched heart. They are stoned and twilight settles over Hogwarts, the sun glowing in a final flash of bright light as it settles behind the mountains. The rest of the sky is purple. Marlene shivers. 

“Are you out to your family?” Marlene asks. She’s been thinking about it all the time these days, how she’s supposed to live with Dorcas in her house after school is over and pretend like they’re only friends. Dorcas has nowhere else to go, hardly any money to her name, and no roots to speak of in Edinburgh. She’s got Muggle family back down in Yorkshire and a set of grandparents over in Greece but she has to stay here to fight…

Marlene realizes that Remus had responded and she hasn’t heard a single word out of his mouth.

“What?” She asks.

“My dad just figured it out on his own and he’s fine with it. I came out to my mum and she was supportive, but I dunno if she was even sober. Are you going to come out?”

“Doubt it,” Marlene mutters to her muddy Quidditch boots. “It’s just Dorcas lives with us now, and I can’t pretend she’s just a friend, but if I tell my family, they’re going to think it’s weird… but I can’t move out… I haven’t got any money, and I don’t know what to do. I just want to be  _ happy. _ ” 

Remus waits a moment before he responds. “Why does Dorcas live with you? What about her family?” Marlene waves her hand dismissively, having forgotten that Dorcas’s departure from Sunderland had been a badly kept secret.

“She left ‘em, they didn’t want her to fight in the war so she just left, came up to us and my parents said she could stay, we have plenty of room anyways.  _ Ugh _ .”

“She could stay in me and Sirius’s extra bedroom…” Marlene doesn’t want to hear about Remus and Sirius and their cute little house in Cardiff. It makes her so jealous that she swears her skin could go green and she’d spit fire, or something, who knows… she wants what Remus and Sirius have. She knows that most of it comes because Sirius essentially doesn’t have a family and Remus has his dad and that’s literally it, and Marlene wouldn’t wish for detachment for her own family, but she wants to be free and happy just like they are.

“I just…  _ Merlin,  _ I just want… I just want N.E.W.Ts to be over, and the Cup to be over, and I just want to live wherever I want and I haven’t got any money, and I’m not  _ good  _ at anything and I’m afraid of the war and I wish I had a job but that’s- it’s just- I’m  _ not  _ good at anything and I don’t want to rely on my family for everything but oh  _ god  _ Remus, I just want to play Quidditch!” And then she starts crying.

Remus hushes her and holds her and tells her that everything’s going to be okay. He offers her some chocolate and that makes things even worse because he’s so  _ kind  _ and they’re all going to  _ war  _ and Remus mumbles that maybe they should all lay off the weed for a while and then he just holds her in his arms and lets her cry it all out. 

Sun sets, and the world turns from black to blue, and Remus asks if Marlene might want to go talk it out with Dorcas, because he’s on the rota tonight. This makes her feel awfully stupid for sitting out here crying all over him when he has Prefect patrol tonight. Except Remus is very patient and doesn’t seem to mind at all. He walks her down to the Hufflepuff common room and exchanges her for Emmeline, who pats her on the shoulder and tells her to brighten up before bopping off with Remus, who says he’ll see her tomorrow.

Marlene holds it together around Dorcas, because her girlfriend doesn’t like tears and if Marlene did sit there and cry, Dorcas would get far too logical about just how things are going to work out. Dorcas is sitting up in the dormitory with Peter Pettigrew’s sort-of-girlfriend Betsy, quizzing each other about Ancient Runes for their upcoming exam.

Betsy says hi to Marlene who says hi right back. She gathers up some of Dorcas’s clothes, takes a shower, and returns to the dormitory to join in the studying. Marlene feels more at home in the Hufflepuff dorms because there's no Moira peeking about the curtains and turning up her nose at Dorcas. 

Dorcas is a protector, steadfast and strong, and anyone who has  _ anything  _ to say about their relationship will answer straight to her which means in short term that they will get their ass kicked by Dorcas fucking Meadowes. The Muggle way if you’re lucky; Dorcas has been going to dueling club since fourth year and is probably the best dueler that Marlene knows, save for Benjy and maybe Sirius. 

After they finish studying, they all just sort of go to bed. Wandlights behind closed curtains, and privacy. It feels warm and safe, somehow, safer than even the Gryffindor common room. Maybe it’s being with Dorcas. Independent in her own way but steady, safe. She’s home free. 

Marlene always gets a full night of sleep in the Hufflepuff dorms. 

A moment of peace from the way everything at Hogwarts seems to pick up in the spring- April is a kick in the face when realizing that N.E.W.Ts are  _ soon,  _ revision starts, the Quidditch Cup is next month and then the weeks pass like nothing else. Time just slips away from them. The moon fills out, Remus disappears for a few days, and Ravenclaw wins their final match against Slytherin. Families keep dying, too. Muggle and wizarding ones alike. 

Marlene’s parents assure her that they’ve put strong wards on the house. Katie pockets pepper spray next to her wand, and everyone has to Apparate three times to somewhere else before coming home so they can’t be followed. They’re being safe, they tell her. She still checks the obituaries in the newspaper each morning and listens to radio broadcasts. Throws herself into Quidditch to forget about everything else happening- schoolwork included. 

Any Quidditch player can agree that there is nothing more distracting or relieving than the sport itself. It takes a concentrated mind to play, and to fly. You’ve got to put everything into it. Makes sense as to why Benjy had worked so hard this year, because Ravenclaw Quidditch captain is the last thing he has to really show for himself now that the mohawk’s gone and he only wears one earring in each ear; two on good days.

The sun stays out longer but the air is still chilly in the mornings, and the evenings. Mid May, Sunday night, and they’ve just finished another practice. Marlene gives a post-practice speech to the exhausted looking Gryffindor team and tells them all to get enough sleep, eat enough, and to keep their heads in the game. She finishes, they break off and go their separate ways.

James had been quiet all through practice, completing the maneuvers and following through the motions, but his heart hadn’t been in it. In the changing rooms after practice, he usually stays behind and jokes around with Marlene while they tidy up, but today he is still silent and now angry, which is even worse.

Marlene changes into her normal robes and is redoing the plaits in her hair, watching James warily in the mirror. His posture is tense, packing the practice equipment back into its case, and he’s struggling with a bludger. She listens to him swear as he tries to wrestle it back into the case and then an empathic  _ fuck!  _ and he straps it in, at long last, and then the bludger rocks the case around and the snitch gets free. 

James kicks the bench so hard that Marlene jumps, and she turns around with her hair half braided and eyes wide, a sparkle of gold sweeping around the changing room. They watch the snitch buzz around in a moments’ silence before Marlene decides that there’s no winning the Quidditch Cup if her best chaser is acting like a petulant child.

“James, if there’s a problem, you’d better tell me about it now because you’ve been acting like an arse for weeks and it’s time to move on, because the Cup is in two weeks and I’m winning it again if it’s the last thing I do, understand?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” James snaps. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“What’s stressing you out?”

“Exams, war, family shit, being Head fucking Boy, you know. Nothing’s wrong.” He mutters it again as an afterthought and laces his shoes back up. There’s a darkness settled over his brow and Marlene watches as he stomps out of the changing room without even a goodbye. She goes over his response in her head: exams are a given, war makes sense, family shit… now, that’s new.

Marlene would rush after him and demand an explanation if not for her deep seated fear of confrontation that always leaves her wondering if she should have been made a Gryffindor in the first place. After seven years, you would think the House assignment biases would wear off by now, but they seem to be lifelong. Dorcas always complains about being sorted into the wrong house, and Marlene thinks that everything would make more sense if the pair of them switched. 

Dorcas is brave, Marlene isn’t.

Except for October, when all sorts of things went wrong, and Marlene had faced her fear of fighting once and for all. Dorcas had been icing Remus out after his unintentional outing as a werewolf and Marlene had been fed the fuck up. She’d told Dorcas that if she didn’t make up with Remus, then the two of them would be done for. 

And for four miserable days, they had not spoken to each other. It had been hell on earth to Marlene. She had to sit at a different desk during their shared classes and found herself with huge missing gaps in the day that were usually Dorcas-time. It felt like part of her own self had gone missing. 

Dorcas had been the one who made up. She came to the Gryffindor table during dinnertime, when there had been no spaces left for her, and the whole friend group had watched her with wary eyes. And with Hufflepuff bravery and kind spirit, Dorcas had formally apologized to Remus for whatever he had heard from her, as the two hadn’t spoken directly, and that she’d love him regardless of anything. She had been very, truly sincere. Then she had apologized to Marlene, too, and Marlene had missed her so much that she cleared a space for her right there and Dorcas had sat down, hugged Remus and then Marlene, and said that she’d never do anything so stupid again.

Maybe Marlene can ask Dorcas to talk to James, because she sure as hell isn’t going to do it herself. As long as he can hold it together for the Cup...

  
  


**j**

James hardly sleeps the night before the Quidditch Cup. There’s been some very fair amounts of stress happening these days, what with N.E.W.Ts just around the corner, and being Head Boy, and the bloody fucking terrorism taking place on account of the Death Eaters, and that tiny little issue of his mum having been infected with Dragon Pox in February, now under quarantine. James has shared this knowledge with no one at all and has harbored it as a nasty little secret within his chest where it eats away at him, because the next course of the disease is inevitable and James isn’t ready.

James is not ready.

Because at the end of the day, he is weaker. 

Sirius was raised in a house that hated him, all of it and everything- even the portraits of the walls sneered at him. He held his head high and never gave in. Sirius got out and sometimes he’s got nightmares, sometimes he flinches when you creep up on him, but at the end of the day he’s smart, talented, funny, and fine.

Remus is a werewolf and has kept his secret under wraps in a generally admirable way for seven whole years. Smartest bloke in their year, awful Prefect but it’s because he’s a stoner with a chronic illness that got so bad that he spent New Years in a hospital bed. His mum had died, his dad is abjectly useless, and Remus is still the most competent person that James reckons he’s ever met.

Lily has been putting up with the wizarding world’s’ useless prejudices since the day she arrived at Hogwarts and lets nothing affect her, these days. Even with family drama, even with her own dad ill, even while being mouthed off at in the halls or generally disrespected because of her blood status, she holds her head high and she’s kind, brave,  _ strong. _

James has had a soft life all cushy and nice, with kind parents and good friends. He’s been blessed so far. But what happens next is that his dad gets the disease. His parents turn to nothing but scales and sickness and then they will die, and they’re already old and their immune systems aren’t so strong at all, and then they will die. 

They were always going to die, but it didn’t have to be like this. It didn’t have to be so soon. It didn’t have to be contagious, because James doesn’t know the next time he’ll see his mum. Will their house be under quarantine? Will James even be allowed inside? Will Lily, or Sirius?

Sirius is just another issue, and James dedicates entire hours tossing and turning while thinking about how to tell his friend. He knows that he has to. There’s no way  _ not  _ to. But Sirius has been doing well, everyone’s been doing well, and James doesn’t want to ruin things. Something bad always happens, something bad always has to bring them down. And it’s usually Sirius drama or Remus drama, sometimes Mary. Hardly Lily, but sometimes. But never James. He’s never been the downer, and doesn’t want to be.

Fuck.

The tossing and turning isn’t working, so James goes to sit in the windowsill and think. He wants to make his parents proud by winning the Cup. Wants to ace all his N.E.W.Ts and come back from school liberally drenched in Gryffindor pride; wants to end these seven years doing something prideful but  _ responsible.  _ The last thing he needs to do is play a stupid prank that pisses off half of the student body, makes Filch shift his arse into top gear to clean up, which is even sadder now that James thinks about it, that the caretaker is a Squib and has to clean up the aftermaths of every prank of James’s with no magic to speak of.

The least he can do to make up for it is do something positive for Gryffindor’s history.

James forces himself to toss and turn for a few more hours, dozing off for a few hours now and then. When the light in the bedroom becomes grey and hazy with the earliest hints of sunrise, James properly gets up. It’s fiveish. He brings his yoga mat down to a far corner of the common room where he can go through his sequences in front of the window, and he can watch the sunrise while he does it.

The yoga calms him. Always does. James hears his heartbeat and the predawn silence of school. His thoughts are dull and hazy. Pushed away from the foreground, and he just lets it all  _ go  _ for a while. He never used to worry so badly, not like this. James’s mum had taught him to meditate when he was a little kid with buzzing brains that never let him sleep. Since he was little, whenever he couldn’t fall asleep, he would just lie in the darkness and meditate. Go far away.

These days, that peace is hard to find. Lily brings most of the calm and he loves her for it. Quidditch used to cool him down, but now it’s just another reason for stress. Speaking of, there’s movement upstairs and James finishes his last literal sun salutation as Marlene wanders downstairs, tugging at the edge of her carefully plaited hair. There’s red and gold ribbons wound through the braids, and she’s already in her Quidditch gear.

“Morning, James.”

“Hiya.” 

“I know it’s awfully early, but I could hardly even sleep.” Marlene checks her watch and clicks her tongue upon checking the time. “Ten minutes until breakfast starts. Want to join?”

“Yeah, I might as well,” James tells her as he rolls up his yoga mat. “I’ll change and meet you there, okay?” 

James and Marlene sit alone at the Gryffindor table. Benjy and a few Ravenclaws from the Quidditch team eat at their own table, but Benjy had caught James’s eye and jerked his chin in wordless greeting at him. At least there’s a sense of sportsmanship there. They sit at the table for about an hour and a half, sipping tea and waiting for the rest of the Gryffindor team to come down and eat.

Once all of them are gathered and have eaten an amount of breakfast that Marlene deems responsible- (“We can’t have you falling off your brooms, and no  _ coffee,  _ Nate, you’ll be too shaky to catch anything in a state like that)- they head down to the pitch to warm up. 

Marlene had replaced both the keeper and seeker this year. The seeker this year is a slight third year named Lucille Parry who flies with careless and frightening speed, and their keeper is an Irish fifth year, another friend of Nate’s, named Daniel Oapley. James has his heart set on Nate being Quidditch captain next year, since the sixth year has been a chaser for as long as James can remember. Now that Hyatt’s gone, their third chaser is a quiet fourth year named Ashley Kim. She’s a fast flier, though, with a good arm. 

Marlene gets nervous before matches and so they all hang about the common room chatting nervously with each other. James used to give a post-breakfast pep talk and then a pre-game pep talk but Marlene limits herself to one right before the game and after all, her speeches are not exactly legendary. She keeps the team calm, which is an odd tactic since Benjy always brings out the Ravenclaw onto the pitch jumping and shouting, full of rabid energy.

James talks strategy with Nate and Ashley sort of casually, not wanting Marlene to think he’s undermining her lack of leadership, when Juliana Dunbar interrupts them.

“Hey, McKinnon, Potter, your girls want to wish you luck.” Marlene looks up from polishing her beaters’ bat and glances at James, who scrambles up and to the side door of the changing room where Juliana had been. She rolls her eyes at them as they scramble out to the door where Dorcas and Lily are standing, both of them in Gryffindor colors.

Dorcas gives Marlene a hug and kiss and then starts laying into her about Quidditch strategy despite the fact that she’s neither beater nor captain of the Hufflepuff team, the pleasure of which fell to one Kingsley Shacklebolt, while Lily takes an easier approach that involves kissing James on the lips, hard.

She stands on her tiptoes, laces her arms loose around his neck, and kisses with those soft, plump lips, mouths at him all wet and hot, sucks against his bottom lip and when James leans in for more, she pulls back. Mouth red, green eyes flickering with all sorts of life.

“A kiss for luck, okay? Win the match and there’s more where that came from.”

“And if I lose?” James stammers, touching his lips with his fingertips, feeling the heat there from the kiss.

“You get a steamed pudding.” Lily grins as James makes an indignant sound.

“Oh, no, it’s pep talk time, Marls! Go on and win it for all of us, okay, I love you!” Dorcas kisses Marlene again and then slugs James on the shoulder, hard. “Kick Ravenclaw arse, Potter.”

“Good luck, James.” Lily tells him. James wanted a second kiss for luck, just to manifest the most positive energy possible, but the two girls are already headed back towards the stands. Marlene and James stand outside the changing room in the balmy May air and watch their girls go. The green grasses shift around them, and James looks up at the mountains surrounding the school, the slightly overcast sky. The air is warm and wet. Perfect Quidditch conditions. Marlene sighs almost wistfully.

“I’m going to miss this the most. Quidditch.” Her voice is sad and James is painfully reminded of how Marlene turned down the Appleby Arrows’s offer. There might be scouts at the game today as well, but maybe Nate or some Ravenclaw players can get picked up. 

“We can play at home, you know… it won’t be the same, but that’s why we have today.”

“Oh yeah. We’re going to win for sure.” Marlene looks at James and her blue eyes burn with determination. Her pep talk to the team is more like a guilt trip, explaining that she’s never going to play Quidditch again after this because she’ll be playing superhero in this world against Voldemort, and the younger students look wide eyed and intimidated into doing everything right. Marlene grins cheekily at James before they step out onto the pitch. 

James was worried about how well he would perform, but he needn’t have. He walks onto the pitch and it’s like first year all over again. Fabian Prewett had been commentating, had always said- “and last but not least, James Potter, third chaser and our only first year on the team!” and now it’s, “James Potter, our Head Boy, and Gryffindor’s third chaser”, not even Quidditch Captain but fuck it, man, he’s been on this team for all seven years and to hell with it- this is all or nothing.

Marlene shakes Benjy’s hand in that awkward way that friends do when facing off against each other. 

Hooch blows her whistle for the last match that James Potter will play in, and they take off. Ravenclaw plays all strategic and Gryffindor just plays  _ hard.  _ Benjy is definitely captain for a reason, because he’s a fast flier and their chaser manouvers are fucking  _ ingenious,  _ except Marlene and Juliana are beating as though their lives depend on it, and Daniel isn’t letting anything through the hoops. The Ravenclaw keeper is good, too.

Everyone’s good. That’s why it’s the Cup.

There’s a lot riding on it, but James remembers the sparkle in Marlene’s eyes, reminds himself that it’s his last game, last game  _ ever,  _ and to just have fucking fun with it. He remembers Hyatt broom surfing, remembers breaking his own arm trying to sloth grip roll, remembers feinting and dodging everything he’s learned about Quidditch over his eighteen years of life.

And James just plays.

The game goes on for hours and Benjy keeps calling timeouts to draw on a little chalkboard and point wildly about the pitch, enough timeouts that he runs out of them and then just flies around with a determined expression on his face as though he could telepathically communicate what he wants to say with his teammates. And he does shout a lot. Marlene doesn’t call a single timeout and hardly raises her voice at all. She just breaks her bat twice and laughs out loud the second time, just floating back down to the ground to let Madam Hooch repair it for her.

Hooch gives her some grip tape to wrap around the base of the bat and Marlene thanks her. The whistle blows, and they’re back in play.

No one notices Lucille catch the Snitch until she flies right up to the announcer’s booth and waves it back and forth over her head. It’s properly anticlimactic until the announcer, Gilderoy fucking Lockhart (who doesn’t play Ravenclaw Quidditch because Benjy literally hates him and had made the biased decision to not accept him despite his ‘alright’ skills as a beater and had made the next best decision of being announcer) shouts- “Oh, bloody hell, Parry’s caught the Snitch!”

“Five minutes ago!” Lucille screams, the loudest James has ever heard her speak, and then the entire crowd goes wild. The Gryffindor team form a circle around Lucille as they touch down, shouting and yelling and not making any sense, because they’ve won the cup  _ again,  _ four times in James’s seven years, and this is fucking legacy, legendary, they’re going down in history! James and Nate pull Lucille into the air and the team lifts her into the air as she laughs out loud, sounds of joy and celebration.

The Quidditch Cup is awarded to Marlene, who’s wiping tears from her eyes and ignores Madam Hooch’s handshake in favor of a big hug. She does the same to McGonagall, who seems to be tearing up in a similar fashion, and looks right at home being embraced by Marlene. And then, once freed from the hug, McGonagall approaches James, who prays that he won’t have to hug Minerva fucking  _ McGonagall,  _ but she just shakes his hand.

Which is still strange.

She tells him “Good work, Potter,  _ really _ , job well done,” and wipes her brimming eyes except she’s still looking straight at him. James says thank you with a numb mind and realizes that he’s still holding her hand so drops it like a hot coal and then just laughs because that’s what happens to James when things get awkward.

The pitch is swarmed by Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even some members of the Ravenclaw team, like Benjy himself. He tells James ‘good game’ and something about them deserving the win which, well, damn straight they did. The hustle and bustle carries on for longer than ever before, and although James loves victory, don’t get him wrong, the only person he really wants to see right now is Lily Evans.

It’s also safe to say that James is getting more than a steamed pudding tonight.


	117. [YR 7] Blood is Thicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote a lot of sirius’s part while listening to talking heads’s speaking in tongues and you know i just sat there and cried like a little bitch. nothing hurts me quite like nostalgia & bittersweet feelings, and this chapter just threw it all together.

_i got a bitterness, ‘cause what’s in you is in me too_

_we were dealt a bad hand_

_but i made good with what you couldn’t do_

**reg**

“You had me over to meet your _mother_!” 

“Yeah- well. Yeah! I’m glad you did, I don’t regret it! I don’t regret any of it!” Theodora has her hands on her hips with is body-language for angry, properly fucking furious, and her pink lips are twisted into this angry frown. “This has nothing to do with you, Theo, I promise. I just can’t dedicate any time to this relationship because of- you know. I’ve been a really shit boyfriend, come on, even you can admit it. But we can be friends!” Regulus knows that he sounds rather desperate, but after all, he’s the one doing the breaking up.

But Theodora isn’t quite content with ‘friends’. The two of them make a strange arrangement that might fall under the category of ‘fuckbuddies’ although neither of them would address the title. It’s nothing an ordinary Rowle nor an ordinary Black would agree to, but neither Theodora or Regulus are exactly what their families expected from them. Come on, now. Is anyone?

Regulus skips out on his exams and goes on missions. He spends a lot of time smoking to quell the anxious hurt that grips his stomach in those never ending periods of nervousness, of waiting. Like his whole life revolves around the next time his mark will burn. His sixth year winds down. One night, the anxiety had been so unbearable that he’d just left. Walked out to his Apparition spot by the Forbidden Forest among the huge gnarled tree roots where the world smells green and safe, and lit up a cigarette.

Easier to breathe when you’re where you’re supposed to be, you know? Regulus sits and smokes for a while until he hears a telltale crunching behind him and only hopes it’s Hagrid or maybe someone a little less incriminating. But he hadn’t been expecting his brother at all. 

“What would the _Dark Lord_ say if he saw you lighting fags with a Muggle contraption?” Regulus doesn’t even turn to look, just scoffs and makes room for his brother as though it hasn’t been years since they’ve properly spoken.

“Your _boyfriend_ gave it to me.” Sirius sits down next to him and shakes his own cigarette out of a packet. Regulus looks over at him, at the cigarette between his lips and the earrings casually dangling from the strange tunnels in his earlobes. “You knew where to find me.” Not a question, only a true statement.

“Oh, yes.” Sirius lights his cigarette just like Lupin, with a flash of fire in his palm. He’s not trying to show off, though. His breath crackles as he takes a pull on the cigarette, and smoke washes out both of them in grey.

“Do you need something?” Regulus’s voice comes off like harsh, even though he’s not angry. Just curious, maybe.

“Not much, not really. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Well, I’m leaving, you know. This is it for me.” Sirius looks out at the twinkling lights of the castle. “I know it’s too late for you to get out, but I wanted to give you my address.” He passes a scrap of paper to Regulus, who looks down at the address written there. Somewhere in Cardiff. Regulus thinks of Potter first but then knows that Lupin fits better, what with his Welsh accent. Boyfriend. Sirius hadn’t said a thing about it, and his silence had been acceptance. 

“Playing house with Lupin?”

“Indeed I am.” Sirius blows more smoke into the balmy nighttime air. “If you need anything, just show up.” 

“I’ll be fighting.” Regulus pauses. “ _You’ll_ be fighting.” Unspoken: we’ll be fighting against each other. 

“Hey,” Sirius says, turning to look at him, “I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me, deal?” He holds out a hand to shake. There’s runes tattooed on his wrists and they look like protection sigils. Regulus ignores his hand. Sirius’s words called to the past, to childhood, getting in trouble and whispering “I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” blackmailing each other. Not tattling, though, never. Just not doing enough.

“I follow through on instructions.” Regulus snuffs out his cigarette in the dirt. “I’m assuming you don’t.”

“I’d never kill you, Reg.” Sirius’s voice is easy and calm. “No matter who tells me to.” Regulus looks at his brother, then, really looks at him. At the enchanted tattoos on his arms, the necklaces of chains on his chest, his long hair, earrings, round face. Greyblue eyes that Regulus shares. Regulus holds his hand out to shake and Sirius smiles, shaking it hard, and then letting it go. 

“You’ve gone soft,” Regulus tells him. 

“Oh, lay it on poor, fat, Sirius Black-”

“Not like that. Well, yes, like that. But come on. Why are you talking to me now? Why not two years ago?”

“I was fucked up, two years ago. And I hated you.”

“Yeah, well, I hated you too.” Sirius chuckles, but Regulus goes on. “You left me there knowing what was going to happen.”

“I was fucked up,” Sirius repeats with a little more force in his voice. “And I’m sorry. I should have done more. But I was afraid. You would have been too. That summer…” Regulus remembers it as hot. How the windows wouldn’t open and he’d lie in bed with no blankets, sweating and miserable. Rather lonely. Barty had been locked in his room all through July and most of August. They got their Dark Marks on a warm evening in late August. 

“I got my Mark that summer.”

“After I left.” Also, not a question. “I wish I could have helped, Reg. I’m sorry that I didn’t do enough. And you could have left, you know, anyone would have helped you. The Potters would have in a heartbeat. Even Remus’s family. All you had to do was leave.”

“Only one of us was ever getting out of there, Sirius, and you know it. And you made it yourself.” Sirius stares up and him and now his eyes are sad, almost desperate.

“It could have been us both.” Regulus shakes his head. “It could have been.”

“Could have, should have, would have, it’s over now. There’s no going back.” 

“Right, then this is why I’m saying goodbye.” There’s an emphasis on the last word. “Because unless you show up at my house, which I doubt will happen, I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to you again and I’m sorry it happened like this. I’m sorry for everything.”

It’s not true, though. Sirius would do it all over again. He would never obey, never take the Dark Mark or find a nice girl to settle down with. He may be sorry, but he would do it again in a heartbeat and judging by the look on his face, he knows it. 

But Regulus is telling the truth when he says, “I forgive you.” Sirius picks at a fresh tattoo on his wrist and keeps his eyes on the castle. “Sirius… I’m not going to visit you and Lupin. It’s all too far gone. If I see you or any of your friends in- in battle, I won’t kill them. I won’t kill you. And dad’s properly ill,” Regulus continues before he can stop himself, “It’s something weird and Muggle, he’s losing his memory and can’t tell me from you, doesn’t know where he is or who he is half of the time, and I’m sure he’ll die of it. I just had to tell you.”

And then it all keeps coming. “And I’m not coming back to Hogwarts next year, I’m dropping out, because I haven’t even gone to class in weeks.” Regulus wants to confess the worst of the worst, wants to tell Sirius that he is a murderer and the only way out is down, deep down. Some things have to stay secret. “So I’ll see you, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“But you have a mask.”

“Yes.”

“So not really. I won’t even know it’s you.”

“You’ll know.” Sirius breathes out heavily. He stands up, brushing dirt from his dark trousers, and looks down at Regulus. “I’m sorry about dad, and that you have to deal with him alone. And don’t tell yourself that you won’t visit, because maybe you will, and I want that to be an option, just to get out of Grimmauld. Just lie, just come see me. I’ll be here always.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, you stupid little bugger, because you’re my brother, do you understand?”

“Yeah.” Regulus’s voice is faint.

“So come up here and give me a hug.” For some reason, Regulus does. Sirius is warm and soft, hugs him tightly, and then lets him go. “It’s your last night at Hogwarts too, Reg, don’t sit out here in the trees and mope. Go see your friends. Enjoy it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I will see you around sometime. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

  
  


**s**

Even in June, there’s a heavy fog nestled in the grey green mountains that surround Hogwarts. It burns off in morning sunlight, but some of it is still there this morning, as James runs ahead of Sirius, who limps after him with a stitch in his side. He won’t miss this.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the days that he does go running since it’s generally a lost cause in terms of weight loss. Sirius gained most of it back over winter holidays anyways, and if Remus doesn’t have a problem with it then neither does Sirius, because he likes to eat whatever he wants and so what if his Stooges shirt doesn’t fit anymore. He goes running because the endorphins are real, and it makes him feel somewhat more accomplished. Exercise is a good way to start the day and especially when there are exams coming up, although Sirius isn’t studying much. He doesn’t see the point.

James has stopped up ahead to wait for him and Sirius staggers up to meet him, putting his hands on his knees and catching his breath while James waits patiently. Maybe patient is not the correct word- he’s sort of nervous, actually, a bit twitchy in an annoying way and then he says, 

“I’ve got some news.” James starts up again but Sirius swears at him and so they just walk, instead. Much better. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” James looks at the Black Lake, the glimmers of it reflecting in his glasses. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again to say: “I slept with Lily.” Then his face goes all weird. “That is _not_ my news, but it _is_ news-”

“Good on you, Prongs!” Sirius claps an embarrassed looking James on the shoulder. If this had happened, say, two years ago, literally everyone would have known about this exciting development in his love life, but now he just seems abashed. “How was it? Wait, don’t tell me, I don’t want details.” 

James forces a laugh that sounds nothing like himself. “It was… you know. It was a bit scary at first, not _scary_ but nerve wracking I guess you could say. Lily’s very-”

“I don’t want to know!”

“Okay!” James smiles now, shakes his head, and then looks away. His pace picks up a bit. “I just don’t want you to freak over this actual news, because it isn’t good, but it’s going to be okay. Erm. That’s what I’m hoping, at least. So please just don’t be angry with me.”

“What’s…?” Sirius looks at his friend, who is now almost speed walking back around the lake, climbing up a hill that Sirius is having more trouble with. Sirius picks up the pace to follow him. James is acting awfully bizarre. “Can you just get out with it?” Sirius pants; they’re reaching the crest of the hill and James is already at the top, his brown eyes all worried, and Sirius meets him up there and you can see the green green grass of the grounds rolling up to the castle and then he says,

“My mum has Dragon Pox.”

There’s something incredibly distressing about the way that no one tells Sirius important things until way, way later. First Alphard’s death and now his adopted mother’s illness. Do they not think he can handle hearing about it when it _actually_ happens? When Sirius asks James when he first found out, James gets even more nervous around the forbidden word of ‘February’ and that hurts even more. And it’s not lying or anything, unless you count lying by omission, and on top of it all, it still hurts.

Sirius would run away from James if he wouldn’t be outstripped in a minute. But it seems there is less to talk about and Sirius has no questions other than the usual, how bad is it and when is your dad going to get it and how long do they have?

More sickness leaves there less to care about. Things will always be wrong, and they’ll continue to be.

In late, late June, the moon rounds out all swollen and wrong. They spend the night destroying the Shrieking Shack as though on purpose, one last great hurrah of tearing the walls apart in celebration; this place has been a prison and a place of unnamable safety all at once and they waste it until sunrise. Wake up as humans with wide eyes and surrounded by destruction. Remus’s fingers are bleeding, his fingernails torn and hanging off in fragments, and he bites into them and chews them away until next to nothing, blood on his lips, and he stands up straight and then they walk out of the Shack. 

Through the front door, which they’ve never done before. Together. Like humans. Like Remus had never been hiding at all, because there’s no reason to, at least, not anymore. Remus stands on the front porch and swipes tears from his green eyes. They fall down his cheeks anyways and then he stops wiping them away, careless in his bittersweet despair. His eyebrows knit. It’s been a long time since Sirius has seen him cry. Something so raw about it today. 

Remus cried the first time they transformed together and it was nothing but relief and happy tears when he turned human again, and this is some of the same. Sirius takes Remus’s hand. The sunrise is all pink and gold, glowing with a bright quality that only the sun can bring. Only the sun. Tears transparent in their existence slide slowly down Remus’s face, over scars that those torn fingernails have given, over deep pockmarks of old acne now permanently hollowed into his cheeks and he’s _supposed_ to be ugly, from the start when he was scarred and skinny and only insecure, but when he turns to look at Sirius today with his lip bitten raw and his nails shreds and his eyes watery with tears, he is everything.

How else can you describe it? Sirius and Remus have become part of each other, two people having become one. Melted like wax twisting together. James and Peter break the moment; Sirius squeezes Remus’s hand tight and they walk down the steps and out into Hogsmeade and the sun lights them up from the inside out.

They take their exams. Some of them, at least. Sirius and Mary skip a few of them to go swim in the Black Lake instead. It’s always been one of Mary’s favorite places to hang out and when they finish swimming, they just lie on the gritty sand right down by the shore and sun themselves. Then they get drunk on what’s left of the whiskey underneath Sirius’s bed, and Mary confesses that he and Lily are the only people left that she trusts in the entire world, which makes Sirius want to cry.

It’s a happy drunk, that day. Sirius had forgotten that Mary doesn’t drink anymore and wonders what compelled her to do it, if it scares her. Not while she’s with him, at least. On their last night at school, their friend group sets a bonfire alight on the grounds after Lily receives permission from McGonagall, and Sirius takes a walk out by the forest.

Just to say goodbye.

It’s not a long one. Sirius wishes that he could be angry with Regulus. Deep down, he is. Deep down, it’s Regulus who associates himself with those who killed Benjy’s family and torture innocent people and are ruining this world spell by spell. Piece by piece, they are tearing down the optimism that Sirius tries to maintain. But Regulus is his _brother,_ and maybe Sirius is bound by that impossible family tie.

He looks at his little brother lighting cigarettes with Remus’s lighter because his magic has always been a little less than and feels that if he can’t protect him, the least he can do is accept him. In that silent but important way that Regulus does, too. The way Sirius has never felt the need to hide himself around Regulus alone.

Without this war, maybe they could still be friends if not at least brothers.

But Sirius leaves Regulus with his cigarettes in the trees and wanders back over to where his friends are, where the warmth is. Sirius has resigned to stay sober tonight just so he can enjoy it the way he should and the way most everyone else is. Sometimes, he wonders if he’s missing something by the near constant highs that he’s maintaining.

Remus smokes a lot of weed with disregard for his lungs because of the chronic illness that Sirius isn’t quite knowledgeable about because Remus doesn’t talk about it, and the weed keeps it at bay. Though not tonight.

Sirius has seen enough goodbyes to know that sentimentality gets old. Alice, and then the Prewett twins and Edgar, and then Caradoc and Hyatt. Everyone leaves every year. Nothing new when it’s you. 

It’s easy to just let it be a good night. Remus had his crying moment earlier and Sirius has decided that he himself will have no such thing; he’ll keep the false goodbyes at a distance and one day maybe a few months later, he can let the end of such a wonderful and rare time in his life sink in and make its significance but if he lets those feelings touch him tonight, he will surely cry and laugh and dig his heels in, chain himself to his bedpost so they will have to drag him out of here kicking and screaming.

It will be leaving a real, true home for the last time.

Sirius has built himself homes all over- there is a home in Godric’s Hollow where he has his own bedroom, and one in Cardiff where the queen sized mattress on the floor belongs to him and the one he loves. There’s the gothic towers of Hogwarts and the soft, rainy valleys of northern Wales. There is an invisible house in London and there is a half blooded werewolf with amber eyes. Varying versions of home.

They stay up all night because there’s no way they couldn’t. When the sun rises on their last day as Hogwarts students, all of them are frozen and stiff and tired. Sirius could use a shower and a toothbrush. A million things. Marlene, James, Dorcas, Lily, and Peter are all going down to the Quidditch pitch to fly around. Remus has to take his medications so Sirius and him head up to the castle with Mary beside them.

“So how are you two planning on going home?” Her voice is anxious. Sirius glances at Remus, who looks back at him and then shrugs.

“I dunno, I thought we could Apparate out of Hogsmeade.” Sirius nods in agreement and looks over at Mary, who just looks worried. “Why?”

“Just wondering about goodbyes.” She’s looking at Sirius, who knows that goodbye means a lot more for Mary than it should, and when they reach the Fat Lady’s portrait, they tell Remus that they’ll meet him in the Great Hall for breakfast in half an hour, and he agrees. Mary and Sirius walk aimlessly through the castle in early morning daylight. 

“I’m just going to miss you so much,” Mary says, “I’m really scared about the future.”

“I think it’s all going to be okay.”

“You sound like James.” Her voice is mumbled, quiet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have some kind of breakdown. I don’t even know if I can fight. I’m not strong anymore.” Sirius looks at her and her face is pulled down and sad, like she’s going to cry. “It’s like there’s nothing to care about anymore.”

“Mary…”

“Sorry, this is stupid. I’m sorry. I just feel terrible all the time and it’s been okay here, it’s been at bay, but now there’s _nothing._ And when you look past the nothing, there’s just war, and I don’t want it anymore. I just want to turn back time.”

“Mary,” Sirius says. “Hey.” He stops walking and just looks at her. Her brown eyes are tearful and afraid. “This is your life. _Yours._ Not Mulciber’s, or Dumbledore’s. No one can tell you what to do. You are your own. I will always be here for you, and you can count on that. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Okay.”

“And the future is so open. This is everything I’ve been waiting for. We can do whatever we want. We can go to concerts every night. We can get as many tattoos and piercings as we please!” Mary smiles through the tears. “We can eat whatever food we like, and go wherever we want, and we’re so free and there’s so much in the future, _so_ much, so don’t let war get you down, because it doesn’t mean anything at all if you don’t want it to. You’re going to make it through this. I know you are.”

“Okay.”

“Do you believe me?”

Mary looks at him with her sad eyes. The light around them is gold and bright in the early morning. Sirius can see the tiredness on his friend’s face and the desperation for something better in her eyes. “Yes,” She says, at last. “I think we’re all going to make it through just fine.” And the unspoken is left that way: _... because I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if we don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhh my god. it's over. (hogwarts is, at least) this stupid fic means the world to me, and i'm so excited to continue through into these characters’ adulthoods because it’s literally the reason i started writing in the first place. i wrote over 400,000 words of buildup to the war lmao. i've made this into a series for convenience, and the first chapter of the next fic should be up in a few days.  
> thanks to everyone who read this and DOUBLE thanks to those who commented. ily all ❤️❤️


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